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𝕆𝕙, 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤 𝕞𝕖, 𝕓𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕜𝕪 𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥
𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕣
𝕃𝕚𝕗𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕
𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖
𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟'𝕤 𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝕊𝕠 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤 𝕞𝕖
[𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 ℕ𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣 - 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤 𝕄𝕖]

The New-New-Edge Autumn Festival was becoming a tradition in the ever restoring city. It was held in the month of May, where the cold wasn’t too cold yet, and the summer has long dampened its deadly rays. Of course, the WRO was the big organization behind its well, organization, but the real planners behind it were the heroes of AVALANCHE and their very impious way of dealing with problems. Because, obviously, there was always at least one trouble rising along the festival. 

Usually created by the same members of said group. 

However, financially and culturally speaking, it was better to hold the festival in May than not to. And they all agreed that the town’s people also needed some distraction from the eternal construction-turned-restoration-turned-construction-turned-restoration of the city. It wasn’t people’s fault that, after they finally started to reconstruct Edge and past the Bahamut-SIN battle, another threatening presented itself in the form of Omega. So yes, that town deserved a festival, and it should be one to rescue people’s hope and happiness after exhaustive – and very destructive – years. 

It worked (somehow) for Kalm. Why wouldn’t it work for Edge? It worked, partially, and they were in their third year of the Festival. 

The AVALANCHE group reunited at Seventh Heaven bar that evening, with some of them almost breaking the stool while gesturing excitedly (Barret), some of them suffering stray blows from the excited dark skinned man (Cloud), one of them napping on a bench (Nanaki), and one of them probably mourning the end of his third wine glass while cursing his still enhanced body (Vincent). The girls were chatting on a near table, and Tifa was passing drinks around as Aerith took notes of their roles and the complaints it raised. They – the two older women – had decided to pre-set anyone’s role on the working booths, since it was a topic that easily got off hand on the previous years.

And anyone just wanted easy assignments, with one of them even wanting no assignment at all . 

“Why can’t it be like last year?” Cloud asked, and he wasn’t really complaining. He was just curious as to why the girls decided to shuffle things a little. Or a lot. He wasn’t complaining, so far he was good with the initial ideas. 

“Because we ran into some problems last year, and we decided it’s better to avoid it this time.” Aerith answered discreetly, not citing the names involved on said problems, and tapping her fruit scented, flower-dingling, glittery pen over the blank page. They were sitting there for almost an hour, and had not come to terms with basically nothing.  

“By problems do you mean the ruckus on the Shooting Booth or the Dandy Mail Booth fiasco?” Nanaki asked, and his voice was the epitome of curiosity and young innocence. Even if he was poking his nose into very sensitive matters, his overall lack of understanding of some of human behavior – particularly AVALANCHE’s behavior – sometimes gave him a free pass in situations like this. 

The beast was said to even make Valentine answer to his queries.

Barret groaned. It wasn’t his fault that a ten year old wouldn’t accept he lost the game, and then it wasn’t his fault also that the boy’s father was a complete wuss. He should’ve refrained from punching his face, though, and the occasional incident that sent the Typical Food’s Booth on fire… But the point is, it wasn’t his fault. It just started because of that fucking dense boy. 

“There was that thing with the alcohol, too.” Yuffie interjected. “Old man was pissed with all that beer spilled.”

“Precisely!” Tifa pointed at Yuffie and the younger pouted, confused. She dismissed the wutaian’s worries with a waving hand. “This is the third festival to be held in this town, and we want to make it perfect.” 

There was a loud, derisive and too inelegant snort from the cloaked man in the back and the women’s eyes turned quickly in Vincent’s direction. He had made his opinions on that stupid festival very clear along the last days, and while the others would steer away from his serious case of grumpiness and brooding, the women weren’t bothered by it in the least. The gunman just ignored the curiosity in those two pairs of eyes – green and mahogany, and got back to his glass of wine with the same blasé expression he did everything else in his life. 

That introspection rendered him a pointed, too scrutinizing look of Tifa, and she quickly turned to do a short, almost indistinguishable nod to Aerith. The other men of AVALANCHE could only wince in sympathy for the commotion those two were sure to cause soon. Cloud was just glad he wasn’t in the aim of those stares for once. 

The room was quiet for exactly three seconds, before Barret’s voice echoed around again, loud and clear. “Where’s Highwind, by the way? That man’s always late thes’ days.” 

“...Finishing a job in Mideel.” 

Vincent’s voice was clear one of frustration, but none of their group had the guts to ask him about what exactly. The girls had an idea, though; Highwind and Valentine were practically joined by the hip from the beginning, no second thoughts intended – and Cid seemed to be the only one capable of dissipating the bad moods of the ravenette nowadays. 

And not to say that the gunslinger was still the silent bastard he was once they started to travel together – he was, in far too many things yet – but they all had learned to not ask some things whenever Valentine gave indication of not wanting to talk. Which occurred frequently. And the only one capable of prying the ravenette off his shell (and bad humor) was Cid; the others would suffer Vincent’s ire, and the roasting from the ex-Turk was enough to even send Barret Wallace into a crying fit, once. 

So they usually just let him be, and decided whatever they had to with Vincent just offering some casual comments whenever he felt like it, if he ever felt like it. 

The girls, used to that kind of behavior and recognizing the signs of a hurting heart, took upon themselves to help the raven haired man. Somehow. Tifa and Aerith had no idea of what Vincent’s preferences were, at least not now that he was free to live sans demons and sans mourning a crazy crystalized woman, but were determined to help him. They thought he was only lonely, and possibly hurt because his social skills weren’t the same as thirty plus years ago. (Tifa suspected they weren’t great even at that time, but she kept that observation to herself – she wasn’t very fond of gunshot wounds and liked to keep her organs inside, thank you very much.) 

They were starting to discuss the organization again when Reeve Tuesti entered the bar, still clad in a full suit and looking like he had run there, and thank the Planet it wasn’t a sunny day, or else his suit would be disgustingly stained.

“I apologize for being late. Logistics are acting like an awful harlot these days.” The brunette sat down at Vincent’s table, and the red eyes only blinked with a short nod as a greeting. The executive nodded, face torn into a stressed and guilty frown. “Cid won’t make it today, sorry about that.” 

“Bastard is really good avoidin’ a job, huh?” Wallace smirked, “Or is he just avoidin’ the old missus?” 

“Barret, how mean!” Aerith, sitting at the table far behind the dark gunslinger admonished, hitting his good arm with her long staff. “It wasn’t his fault, was it, Reeve?” 

“No. No! It isn’t like that, by any means.” The Commissioner turned to Barret, shaking his head. He felt he should defend Highwind’s actions, since he was the one responsible for the man’s disappearance lately. “If anything, he’s happy with the divorce, lad. It’s just… WRO has been down with some planes, and Cid is covering all the majority of shipments for us.” 

“Will he have time for the festival, Reeve?” 

“I hope so. He’s in dire need of some rest.” Tuesti frowned, accepting Tifa’s offer of a glass of whiskey, on the rocks, the way he liked. “Thank you, Tifa. You’re a godsend. Cid will be here, I promise you. I can’t say he will be able to help, though.” 

“It’s okay. We have plenty of help already.” 

“Well, let’s begin, shall we?” 

Aerith clapped her hands enthusiastically and the men groaned. Some soundly – Barret, of course – the others in a more constricted manner, and one even rolled his crimson eyes. They had no escape while the women planned, and while Reeve was dutifully interested in their plans, business brain taking the lead and making good arguments about the arrangements, the gunslinger at his table was far, far away from the whole booths and foods talking. 

Valentine was drifting somewhere in the recent past, reviving a few memories that had been sure to stir odd feelings in himself. He was aware of his recent case of bad mood, and was only starting to understand the reason behind it, but it was a too wild idea to take into consideration. Vincent was sure his heart was dead, frozen past the point of salvation. If anything, his redemption gave him peace of mind and some ounces of healing, but in all of those months he wasn’t able to feel anything. 

Then why was he bitching about the pilot’s absence now? 

(Valentine knew, very well, why; he just wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet. Last time was traumatic enough for a whole – and newly mortal – lifetime. And it was a feeling that crept inside his heart along the years, blindsiding him with the pretense of a close friendship.)

Vincent heard his name called and looked up, slightly confused. His brain caught up with the talking, and he froze, completely paralyzed due to shock. It had to be a joke. A bad joke. Barret had hollered around the room that Vincent was stuck in the kissing booth, and that they would not change the settlement now it was done. The election of Valentine for a booth that was specifically made for men to kiss girls was beyond absurd, but the collective shouting of “What?!” from the AVALANCHE group made things even worse.  

Somewhere amidst the shock of his – former, he would make sure of it – friends, Vincent was able to hear a confused, astonished “But who would want to kiss him?” coming from Yuffie. The red eyes narrowed on the small woman, and the five star Shuriken she was pestering him about as a birthday gift would mysteriously disappear on his next visit to the Midlands now, to be hidden in his parents’ mausoleum for that comment. 

That would teach her. 

“...I didn’t agree with it.” Vincent answered, past awe and anger, showing nothing but astonishment in his flat voice.

Damn, he sure was strange these days. Years prior, all he needed to do was ignore the idea, let it go or just stare until one of his comrades would grow too uncomfortable and drop it. But now he knew, he just knew, that his face was showing his surprise with that election. And how, by the Planet they saved too damned times already, did they think it was a good idea to put him in a kissing booth? 

“You don’t really have to, silly.” Aerith’s saccharine comment made some men wince. She could be newly-revived – it had happened in the year after Omega’s Battle, when she sauntered off the Lifestream with Zack Fair in tow – and face too round with an advanced pregnancy to be recognized, but the mischievous glint was still there, haunting the AVALANCHE’s members. “We don’t really have any other work for you this year, Vincent, and we all think we should give you some people’s interaction this time.” 

“I didn’t agree with it.” Valentine repeated, knowing it was a weak response, but he really hadn’t nothing to argue with; his mind was devoid of any usable thoughts right now. It was a ludicrous, impossible idea that someone like him would be deemed to kiss other people. And worse, that people would like to kiss him and even pay for it! 

It would certainly be a flop. And Vincent had really no desire to kiss anyone. Well, maybe some blond, foul-mouthed, grumpy pilot. 

“Come on, Vince, it’s for charity!” Yuffie exclaimed, excited she wasn’t the one being humiliated this time. Last year she was forced to use a ridiculous blueberry pie costume she really didn’t care about for the food booth, and it had ended with a lot of purple stains on her clothes and her body after the booze spilling that it took forever to clean up.

“Yuffie is right. All the non-edible booths will donate the money for the Orphanage and the Leaf House.” Reeve nodded, checking the planner on his hand. He wasn’t exactly privy to the women’s plans, but he caught on that they were planning something and sided with them instantly. It was about damn time someone forced the gunslinger out of his darkness’s shrouded shell. “We will even have three types of game stands, beyond the usual park attractions, this year.”

“Then why can’t I be in one of them?” 

“Ya’d be required to do a lot of talking. Like A LOT.” 

“Yes. Last year I was stuck in the Rings Game Booth. It was horrible.” Cloud answered quietly, nursing his booze with an annoyed frown. He remembered quite clearly, all the overexcited children and too chatty parents, and beyond that, the barrels colliding with the booth’s structure and toppling over him in the sole, tiny moment he was capable of resting. “And then there was the spilling. I smelled like beer for a week after that.” 

“Cid was so pissed. Man, I thought he would have a stroke.”

“He almost did.” Valentine commented, distracted with the memory. He had taken care of Highwind most of that night, monitoring the man’s blood pressure until he calmed down. Only then he would know that Cid was really stressed because of the divorce, and the three barrels of booze spilled on Cloud’s head was just the last push on his still too short fuse. They had a very serious conversation the next morning. “That’s why I convinced him to quit smoking.” 

“How did ya manage that?” Barret turned, frowning at the lanky gunslinger.

“It’s none of your business.” 

Valentine’s face darkened, and all that Wallace could do was roll his eyes and turn back to his beer in silence. If Vincent didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t talk. But what AVALANCHE didn’t know was that the ex-Turk hadn’t done much, in fact; he had just told Highwind that he would leave – and never talk with him again – if the pilot didn’t stop smoking and started to take better care of himself. With that simple threat he had convinced Cid, the mighty, grumpy, irresponsible captain, to start a healthy diet and cut his smoking for at least half, and then by a third, until he finally managed to stop. 

So far, Cid was smoking only four cigarettes a day, and reducing. Vincent counted it as a victory, compared to the twenty plus filters the man used to leave on the ashtray every day.

(If Valentine were a bit more attentive, and if he wasn’t so behind the norm for people’s interactions and flirtation methods these days, perhaps he would’ve realized he was the reason for Highwind to try to stop smoking. Vincent would’ve known if he had shared that information with the female contingent of AVALANCHE, too, but he was still too closed in his own mind for that. A product of his own generation, really. For more he tried to be updated, he was still raised in the fifties.) 

“We still have to get someone in the Dandy Booth.” Yuffie chirped in, rolling around with her stool in short impulses to not trigger her motion sickness.

Her sentence caught Vincent’s ears, and he perked up, not moving an inch from his position. The gunman was leaning on the leathery bench, arms crossed over his chest and pouting behind his cloak at the stupid decision to put him as the kissing booth attraction. Like he was some cute maiden to be courted and bat his beautiful eyes towards all of those suitors. If that worked, if that stupid thing worked, perhaps he should start to bat his long eyelashes towards Highwind; but the blonde would probably just ask if Vincent had something in his eye and offer himself to blow it out with the subtlety of an elephant stepping on a flower. 

He snorted with such a idiotic, but truthful image, and turned to the women planning the festival. “Why can’t I be in the Dandy Mail Booth?” 

“No fucking way!” Tifa’s raised voice made all the group  stare, and she was sure to use her stern mommy tone on her next words, slowly. Paired with her cracking of knuckles it made quite the impression throughout the saloon. “Last year we had enough complaints about your corrections and sarcastic commentaries about people’s love life, Vincent.” 

“Yeah. A lot of customers came here to complain about it.” Cloud agreed, frowning at the memory and quickly hiding behind his drink when the crimson eyes of Valentine squinted on his person. 

After that outburst from Tifa – who was the most stable people of their group, seconded only by Tuesti and his perpetual suffering face and stressed tone – Valentine was slightly sheepish in pointing anything else out. Now he comprehended that his bitching about Cid’s absence had been there for a little more time than he previously thought; something about a few years, perhaps.

And yet, even feeling self-conscious of his past flaws, and how he truly was mordant with people’s festival last year, Valentine couldn’t refrain himself from adding with a very petulant voice: “...Reeve was there too.”

“Reeve was a little more diplomatic, Vincent.” 

The ravenette man just scoffed. 

Barret, already a little pissed because every time he said something he was risking a stray staff in his direction, turned to face Valentine. “Yeah. Ya only spared Marlene, and just ‘cause she’s a child.” 

“You misspelled Elmyra and passion, Wallace. I was being thoughtful in suggesting she could find someone better.” 

The answer was bordering on cruel, just so, and a little too elaborate for someone so restrained like Vincent, but it was effective in making the group freeze, watching in slow motion as the big black man launched, stool hitting the floor only seconds later. The older gunslinger slid away from his bench, gliding backwards and sideways in the back of the room to avoid a painful hit, and Barret did a number on Tifa’s wall, getting his mechanical arm stuck inside the damaged plaster. 

“You fuckin’ cold-hearted blood-sucker-! Ah’m gonna get ya, Valentine!”

The raven haired man just smirked and that made the dark skinned man seethe. Barret was still growling when Vincent glided back to his side, cape floating around him like a true vampire, and getting some poor concealed snickering from his friends. The whole AVALANCHE just waited, watching the bitchiest Barret could get as the ravenette embraced his big metallic arm with a gloved, delicate hand and tugged it back, pulling it off with a cloud of dust from the broken wall. Wallace mumbled a very aggressive thanks and they returned to their own seats. 

Despite being constantly on each other’s throats, they were good friends. And Valentine, with Cloud by extension, knew some things only he could do due to the past enhancements. Like pulling an arm from a concrete wall, for example. As both gunmen sat down, the group pondered that perhaps there was some old hurt between Vincent towards Barret, but none of them would be crazy to say it aloud. 

Not in Valentine’s presence, that is. 

After everyone calmed down and were drinking a new round of booze, wine and whiskey, Lockhart turned to the sarcastic man in the corner. “Vincent, that was very rude! Barret had to relearn to write, you know? It’s still not easy for him.” 

Vincent paused, hand halfway up to his mouth with a refilled glass of wine, and thought about the woman’s words. He turned to Barret, raising a beautiful, perfect eyebrow in question. “Were you right handed?” 

“Yeah.” Barret answered, nodding sadly – but very manly – behind his bottle of beer. 

That was something very few friends knew about, that Tifa was the one helping him to relearn everything after his prosthesis was installed. He risked looking at the vampire’s direction, and found himself softening rather quickly towards his longtime companion. Vincent was cradling his gauntlet, the right hand massaging up and down the cold structure, obviously reliving all kinds of bad memories, too. While that man still had the member, all that was left was a mess of scars, fragile bones and frail muscles. Barret had puked the last seven meals he ate the only time he had seen Vincent’s real arm below the metal.

Wallace could only imagine how painful it was to look at that everyday. 

The ravenette’s face fell, and he cleared his throat, feeling quite small and uncomfortable. “...I apologize.” 

“Myra thought it cute, jest ya know.” Barret grumbled, without any real spite in it. As the older one – bar the narcoleptic vampire, Wallace knew very well that all of them had bad memories and torments to live with, and even with the constant fights and offenses, those bad moments were what truly cinched their group together.

Vincent smiled tiredly to the equally shaken gunslinger, sharing a moment of pain and comfort with Barret. The ex-Turk didn’t like to remind people of their traumas and liked even less to be reminded of his own, but sometimes – especially with AVALANCHE’s team members – it was inevitable; they all had such heavy burdens to carry. And moments like this, for more uncomfortable that were, made him feel part of that group. 

There was a heavy air around the room, and Tifa clasped her hands soundly, getting the group’s attention with a big misplaced scare. There was a curse somewhere in the background, and the bartender turned to Yuffie, reprimanding her for the use of bad language. It turns out it was Aerith who cursed and, as revenge, the ninja girl threw an array of napkin ball’s on the healer’s head. 

Tifa sighed, hands on her waist, and waited for the two children to stop fighting. They wouldn’t get anything done at that pace. When they finally stopped, she turned to Aerith again. “So, how are we?” 

The pregnant woman smiled sweetly, “We have Vincent as the kissing booth lady.”

Tuesti snickered behind his whiskey glass and all of the men groaned. It would take all night if they were that slow.

“Okay. Reeve, take notes.” Tifa pointed at the youngest member of AVALANCHE. “Yuffie, you will be in the shooter booth. You talk too much, and the kids will love you. Barret’s going to the fishing stall.”

Aerith raised a hand. “Actually, no. I think it’s better if he stays in the foods booth. You still can operate a grill, right?”

Happy, and enthusiastically gesturing more than it was necessary, Barret agreed, almost knocking Cloud off his seat by a second time. “Sure thing, girly. Ya’ll hav’ the best barbecue on Edge!”

“Yes. It will taste like a cardiac arrest.” Vincent mumbled, hiding his smile behind his ever-present cloak. He was still mildly attached to that thing, even if he didn’t need it anymore, and used it occasionally – without Chaos’ powers, it became more a nuisance than help – but he made special allowances to AVALANCHE’s meetings, so they wouldn’t be so shocked to see his thin butt cladded in leather walking around. 

(Valentine was, also, completely aware of how much the girls liked to see his thin butt cladded in leather walking around. Which wasn’t so thin as they probably expected, and it sprouted too much commentary within the group while they traveled. He thought that avoiding unnecessary abuse was worth the risk of damaging his cape.)

“Ah’ll make them extra-special to ya. Full of garlic.” 

Despite the bickering, Vincent knew Barret excelled with a grill to operate. Between Wallace and Highwind, the barbecuing of dragons and beasts while on road was a moment to wait for, and he felt slightly sad he couldn’t taste it properly at that time. Chaos and the Beasts, plus enhancements, always made him savor more of the molecules of food than its actual taste. And although he had stable, deep, inappropriate feelings for the pilot, Barret’s grill was better. 

The way that man could roast some chocobo's wings… Vincent would be on his knees just for a bite of it, no mercy for his own dignity. 

“Okay, Cloud will go to Dandy Mail. And please, refrain from commenting on people’s love life.” Tifa pleaded with a too strained tone of warning. She knew Cloud wouldn’t dare, though. He was too shy to do it like Valentine did. “I’ll stay with Drinks, and this time we’ll have mulled wine and beer as the only options of alcohol.” 

“It’s better if Drinks stay a little apart from the other booths. Perhaps at the entrance?” Reeve suggested, drawing a quick map of the square they would use to allocate the Festival. It was the main park of Edge, and he efficiently marked the possible booths around the place for the first monument of Meteor, and the second one – still under construction – and that now included a big Omega statue and a proportionate Chaos ascending towards the sky. Valentine had hated that design. “We can put Barret at the middle, a little away from the main entrance, so it’s easily reached, but it won’t incense the whole park with smoke.” 

“Great! This way Zack can do the bonfire and the quadrille around the old monument.” Aerith turned to the architect, frowning. “Can we use its pit for the bonfire?” 

“Knowing Zack Fair, it’s the safest option.” Vincent mumbled, hidden behind his wine glass this time. 

Barret frowned, why the hell could Vincent make those sarcastic remarks and wasn’t sporting any mark of Aerith’s staff? Valentine was being an ass with every idea of this festival, and it became even worse when the women escalated him as a prop of the kissing booth. Now, that was something Wallace would support, even if it put his life at stake; to see Vincent squirming out of his comfort zone was worth the risk. 

Truth was, they could fight from sunrise to midnight, but even Barret thought the ex-Turk was too lonely sometimes. And maybe Tifa was right, the man walked around like he wasn’t part of life itself, like he was still a ghost, a gun for hire and nothing more; like everything that connected Valentine with people were severed off, with no chance of being repaired. The dark skinned man idly wondered if that was the motivation behind Vincent’s enrollment for the Turks, and if it was a trait of his personality more than a post-traumatic disorder.

“Okay, we have almost everything done.” Tuesti commented. “What’s missing?” 

Yuffie swirled around a little too fast on her stool, putting a hand over her mouth before trying again. “We still need someone to call the Bingo numbers.” 

“That I can do.” Vincent tried again, his miserable posture gaining a tiny spark of hope. It was a subtle shift in his eyes, and the quick movement he did to release the glass from his lips. “Trade the Kissing thing for the Bingo. You know I won’t offend anyone with that.” 

The answer came across his own table, sadly, and Reeve put a hand over the tabletop, trying to sound apologetic and sincere. While he could agree that Valentine singing the Bingo numbers would be interesting – and possibly not suitable for the young public with his deep, sexually charged voice – he had also settled that issue with his robot cat. “Sorry, Vincent. I promised Cait Sith would do that. You know how much he likes to be the showman.”

The gunslinger’s shoulders sagged visibly, and all of their group looked at each other, perhaps thinking they were being too harsh on the gunslinger. They had lost count of the drinks passing around, but Lockhart knew how much she had served, and how Vincent’s frustration had started to seep out his quiet figure as the number increased. She made a mental note to trade his glass with juice or water on the next round. He was slipping on his uptight posture but not tipsy yet, and only Planet knew what a drunk Vincent could do.

“I can’t stay in the kissing booth.” Vincent complained loudly, more akin to a disgruntled child than the thirty plus years old man he looked like. His frown was turning slightly down, resembling a pout – or what his natural expressionless face would do as a pout – and even Reeve tried to hide his smile behind another sip of beverage. 

“Why, have ya never been kissed?” Barret asked, and moments later was hit a third time by Aerith’s staff. This time on the head, with enough force to leave a bump.

“Damn, girl! Why don’t ya hit him fer ‘is ‘remarks?”

Aerith paused, hands still tight around her staff. “For… Reasons.” As Barret grumbled and rubbed his hurt head, the older girl turned to Vincent, a worried frown on her round face. “Is there a problem with that, Vincent? We just thought you would be okay if you approached and touched people instead of the other way round.” 

“Yeah.” Tifa quickly added, pretending she knew what Aerith was talking about. They hadn’t talked about it in detail, they hadn’t even planned it all until that morning. They just wondered if they could force Vincent to meet more people and nudge him towards some new love interest while doing the kissing thing. It had seemed a plausible idea at that moment. “And you used to be a Turk, so we figured you had been trained for it.” 

“For being kissed at a Festival?” Nanaki poked his head up, from where he was nodding off over a bench. The beast was still too young and a little too innocent sometimes, even after countless battles and weird things surrounding their group. 

“Servicing people.” Vincent answered, and the beast still looked confused. He sighed, knowing he would have to be a little more specific. “We are trained to seduce and copulate in different situations, for several purposes. Men, women, it doesn’t matter. The only priority is getting the job done.”

“Then a kiss would mean nothing to you.”

Vincent squinted at the young ninja and he suddenly wished to send HER to Mideel, to his parents’ grave. In fact, it didn’t matter to him. But it also mattered to him. It had been many years since he was last kissed by someone, nor had he kissed anyone of his own volition for… 

35 years at most. 

The ex-Turk winced internally. It was pathetic. How in the world did they think this was a good idea? He should be glad if anyone would even want to kiss him at the festival. And there was that feeling, too. That smoldering burning in his heart whenever he thought about the absent pilot, the desire to touch him, the fascination of his lips with the only two sets it had – grumping and grinning. If Valentine wanted to kiss someone, it would be Cid, not a couple of strangers in a stupid charity fair. 

But in all, with his training and years of detaching himself from his body, Yuffie was partially right. It didn’t matter that much, he was just being petty due to shock and disbelief. 

“Look, Vincent, no one is asking you to french kiss every customer of the festival…” Tifa tried again, her tone sweet and comforting. 

Both her and Aerith had been escalated for the kissing booth on the previous editions, and all they had to do was give a couple of mouth kisses between some cheek kisses – those usually on shy, preteen boys, who acted like they were lucky to gain a girl like that. Both of the women had thought it cute, too, and they had pestered Cloud and Zack about it for months after the fact. 

“Yeah.” Aerith amended. She was the first one in the kissing booth, two years prior. “All you have to do is close your mouth and… Kiss.” 

“Give them a peck, you mean?” Cloud asked, slightly amused by the shit description of the job. 

Aerith brandished her staff in Cloud’s direction, threatening him with a smack and the blonde only shrugged, not really afraid of being smacked by a basketball holding a twig. 

“Come on, Vincent. It’s for the Orphanage.” Aerith tried again, beautiful green eyes sparkling and rubbing her large belly to reinforce the sentiment behind her words. She knew it was a low blow, but she did it nonetheless. 

No shame in using all the fragility her pregnancy offered. And she had learned, very early in that state, that she could escape almost everything and persuade anyone to do what she wanted, just battling her green eyes and showing how sensible she was. Which meant a crying fit at all hours of day, for anyone who was near her and dared to deny Aerith’s wishes. 

That, unfortunately, included Vincent Valentine.

“Ya really hav’ no choice, pretty boy.” Barret quipped, and was swatted again by a long stray staff. “Damn, girl! Save somethin’ fer yar own husband!” 

The red and black cladded man had only the presence to unholster his huge ass gun, Cerberus, and put it over the table, crimson eyes boring holes on the dark skinned gunslinger and making him shut up immediately.

“Please, Vincent. For me.” 

The ravenette sighed, closing his eyes just to not look at the bright green eyes he had seen dull, devoid of life, many years prior. Her words tugged at his heart, and right there, Vincent Valentine knew the battle was lost. The ex-Turk drank the rest of his wine in one go, sure he would regret that decision later and that AVALANCHE would be there, every moment of the day, to watch him fail. Yet, Vincent nodded to the healer, agreeing with that stupid idea of being a ‘kissing girl’, and his former friends cheered, ignoring his sour expression. 

Valentine just prayed, to whatever deity listening, that Cid Highwind didn’t make it to the Festival in time, for more that he craved to see and spend some time with Cid again.

Chapter Text

𝔻𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕓𝕚𝕘 𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖
𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝕟𝕠𝕨
𝔸 𝕔𝕒𝕣 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒 𝕤𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖
𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕
𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕔 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 ℂ𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒
𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕜𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕓𝕖𝕕
[𝔹𝕠𝕟 𝕁𝕠𝕧𝕚 - ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕪 ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕤]

The Festival’s Day came quicker than Valentine thought and wished it would. 

Tifa had forbidden him to use his cloak, with the explanation that made him look too ominous, and that the whole intention of a kissing booth was using an attractive person to, well, attract people to spend gils in exchange for an innocent touch, so he would have to dress to impress. The woman had gained only a glare in response, and the temperature in the room they shared, while gluing the Festival’s colorful flags onto wide strings, dropped at least 15 degrees after that explanation of her.

The idea that he was considered ‘attractive’ was ludicrous to his mind and he would not comment on that, even if he knew the effect his looks – meaning his body – usually caused on people; he couldn’t honestly understand their fascination with his too thin, too tall and too pale body.

True to his word, though, Vincent Valentine stepped in Edge’s square that afternoon without the long cape and gauntlet – using only a brass bracer to give his arm some stability, and was very aware of the look some soldiers and staff threw on his way towards the booths. He had promised he would not use his cloak, or everything in his garments that sent alarms of danger, but Tifa hadn’t said anything about leather and a coat, and for that, Vincent had chosen one of his usual pants, without the belts and the thigh holster. (It was a rule of WRO events, no guns unless you were a soldier, and even AVALANCHE had to comply, so Cerberus was sadly left at the safety of his apartment)

He felt rather naked without a gun. Vincent hated being unarmed, but that was a trauma to not be tackled today. 

Instead of the heavy and easily recognizable cloak, Valentine used a long, thigh-height wine-colored wool cardigan over a turtleneck sweater. It was a simple piece, open at the front, with a little too large collar that could easily be unfolded to hide his face and also act as a hood. But the most important thing was that he felt safe inside that coat and even safer when, turning down to help a woman carrying too many pipes of a booth’s structure, he felt his butt still covered by the long clothing. 

Vincent loved the leather, its slightly tight hug around his flesh, but the leather definitely didn’t love his butt on every movement he did. 

“Oh. My. God!” 

Aerith’s gasp was enough to catch Tifa’s and Reeve’s attention, both turning to look in the direction the older woman was looking at. Tifa’s jaw dropped and her hand came up, to press Tuesti’s arm, shaking the man enthusiastically and making him dizzy with her underlying strength. Vincent had polished himself even better than she thought he would, and was stunningly walking in their direction with his long, cat-walk strides, collecting eyes and jaw-drops wherever he passed. 

Somehow, he seemed unaffected by those stares, but the tight-lipped face gave the three friends another idea. 

“Good afternoon.” The rough, deep tone of Vincent’s voice echoed around, and most of the staff in the booth turned to look at him. He huffed, they used to work together daily, there wasn’t any reason for them to be awed by his presence just because he was dressing differently. 

(There was, though. Anyone had never seen the gunslinger with anything but old, worn out clothes and a tired expression on his face. Somehow, despite the task he would face today, he was looking refreshed, like he had a good night of sleep, a delicious breakfast, and any motive to be happy – if a man like Vincent Valentine could be called happy, that is. He seemed… Content, and that look turned out to be quite charming with his still young features.) 

When Valentine finally stepped in the Drinks Booth he brought with himself a strong and enticing smell of Brandy and Jasmines, barely concealed by a manly Sandalwood scent that matched directly with his wutaian ancestry. The whole visual and cologne made the man look closer to the young thing he looked like, and even Vincent himself felt a bit more at ease with the disparity of his looks and age. It was something he couldn’t ignore, that his mind felt old when his body looked young; but being forced out of his clothing safe zone had turned the switch on his psyche somehow. 

Perhaps he really should abandon some of his garments to more casual, updated clothes…

Tifa was ecstatic, and Aerith – though still deeply passionate about Zack, was facing a hard time with her out-of-control pregnancy hormones. Even Reeve, who nursed a hidden love by the youngest member of their group, and who was slowly gauging his steps to Yuffie’s heart, was quite enamored with Vincent’s looks. The man could only imagine what it would do to Highwind’s poor heart, and he quickly fished his PHS from a pocket, sending a message for the pilot to come to the Festival no matter what.

If Vincent Valentine looking like a wet dream wouldn’t force Cid to make a move onto the ravenette, nothing would. The pilot was doomed to be alone and grumpy for the rest of his days. 

Reeve, finally remembering the way of good manners, answered: “Good afternoon, my friend.” 

“Hello, Vincent!” Tifa greeted, pushing her work with the big mulled wine pan on the stove aside for a moment. “You are…”

“Gorgeous!” Aerith, sitting on an uncomfortable, foldable chair, couldn’t refrain herself. “Why the hell did I marry Zack Fair when you were around all this time?” 

Reeve chuckled, and his smile turned into a full laugh with Vincent’s shocked and embarrassed expression. How did that man make into the Turks when he was so easily embarrassed? Tuesti suspected that Valentine was only shy now, after everything he went through in Hojo’s hands, but an old, unrecognizable voice in the distance proved him wrong only seconds later. 

“Ahh, still the same timid bastard, I see!” 

There was a man walking in their direction, dark brown dress pants and a beige checkered vest over a cappuccino shirt, his brown hair was peppered with white and he had a faded scar on his left cheek, just as tall as Vincent and sporting a mechanical arm. He was common as any middle aged man, but there was some malice in the rich chocolate eyes that put both Aerith and Tifa on edge. The stranger stopped very close to the ravenette, and came to run a hand around the gunslinger’s waist, giving an intimate kiss at the corner of Valentine’s mouth – a kiss that was immediately cleaned by Vincent’s gloved hand. 

“I think I warned you about doing that, Dragoon.” 

“You did. But your pissed face is still too cute to resist, Valentine.” The man gave a small pinch on Vincent’s cheek and diverted the gunslinger slapping his hand away, quickly turning to Tifa and stretching his flesh hand for her. As she took it, he turned down and kissed her hand with a gentlemanly gesture that made the woman blush. “Veld Dragoon. I’m Vincent’s partner.” 

“You were my partner. And did a very shitty job of it.” The raven haired man answered, ignoring the way Veld’s face closed in mild guilt. It was true, though. He had promised to come back to Nibelheim years ago but had never returned. Not to mention the years Vincent went through experimentation and slumber. There wasn’t any lingering hurt towards Veld after they could sit and talk about everything, but Vincent liked to bring it out whenever he could, just to show the other man he was anything but flawless. “What are you doing here, Veld?”

The man, who was charmingly talking with Aerith, hands still locked with the woman’s and making sure she was treated as a princess, turned to his old partner with a satisfied grin that made Valentine squint. It couldn’t be good things. But it wasn’t exactly why Vincent thought he was there. “I’m following a group of troublemakers that have been terrorizing some places around the planet. The last stop was in Costa del Sol, and it ended with two fatal victims.” 

Tuesti frowned, he had listened to Tseng talking about something similar. “Do you think they will be here today?” 

“I don’t know. But Tseng asked for help, so here I am.” Veld smiled, and his brown eyes twinkled in Vincent’s direction. “That and to have another taste of my gorgeous partner here.” 

“Verdot, if you don’t shut up, Felicia will need help to find you next time.” 

“Oh, how tempting, sweetheart!” Verdot gave Vincent one last shit-eating grin before his face matured, turning all profissional. “I’ll take a look around and try to find my protégé, see what we can do in matters of security. It was a pleasure. See you later, ladies and gentlemen.”

As they watched the man go, Vincent with a deep frown between his crimson eyes and the woman – Aerith – with a dreamy sight, Reeve remembered something. “Does he know Tseng is the current Turks’ Director?” 

“Yes, he does.” The gunslinger’s voice was back to the same grave monotone he said everything, but there was a great deal of annoyance behind his words. “He just likes to coddle everyone around him when he’s not on a job.” 

“Ohh, I wouldn’t mind if he did that to me. I wouldn’t mind it at all.” 

Aerith’s cheerful voice piped in, making the two men turn to her and the gunslinger blush slightly. The three looked at the seemingly innocent woman, the same gaze of shock and surprise on their faces. Aerith’s pregnancy was showing them she had nothing of the good, well behaved girl they mistakenly remembered, and perhaps that was the reason why she sauntered back to life from the Lifestream. They could only imagine what kind of ruckus she was causing there. 

“Come on, he’s a gentleman! I’m afraid I’ll have two children to look after once this baby is born. Zack is just as bad as one.”

They all laughed, even Vincent. 

“Hey, he came back from the Lifestream for you.” Reeve pointed, smiling as the woman tried to get up and failed. He stretched both hands to help her, it was time to go back to work. 

“I know. Isn’t it sweet?” Aerith smiled, blushing at her husband’s mention. Despite the words, they were both deeply in love, and the flower girl wouldn’t trade Zack for anything on the Planet. That was cemented by her decision to have a family with him and, back alive, the first thing they did once out of the Lifestream was to find a judge and get married. Only after that – and the mandatory honeymoon of only one and a half days, because they were both too excited to see their friends – did they announce their return. 

As the three members of the group talked, Vincent decided it was time to face his duties, and time to help the work staff with his booth’s organization. He waved at the AVALANCHE’s members and quickly walked to the booth structure, seeing it was already properly set.

It was horrible. 

The booth’s structure was all black painted wood – unlike any other one, that were plain wood or sometimes gaudy, festive colors – and it had a big red heart adorning the plain structure, with a plate in white announcing Kisses . The letters on its middle were an elegant flourished calligraphy – and it was even pretty – but was somehow lost between the many, many ribbons and balloons on the side poles, giving the decorations some threads of white, black and red with thin golden foil strips twirled around it. 

He felt slightly offended that the booth had most of the colors he used daily – intentionally or not, and looked up to the red heart balloons that felt too much to bear. Vincent quickly pulled the string holding it all together, releasing them on the wind and watching them fly away from that heinous decoration. The booth didn’t need more than it already had, and was just missing the sign with prices and types of kisses at its front. Valentine frowned, taking the pen in his right hand and swirling it a little, thinking about what to write on the white board.

The ex-Turk worked on it for at least twenty minutes – quite the time, as he was considerate of his beautiful and old-fashioned calligraphy – once he settled on what type of kisses he was comfortable to give. Tifa had said he would need at least one kiss on the cheek and the mandatory kiss on the mouth, but as a last minute decision he added a kiss on the forehead, too. 

The board was like this:

Cheek Kiss …………………… 15 gils

Forehead Kiss …………………… 25 gils

Mouth Kiss …………………… 50 gils

……

Try anything dirty with your hands and you’re dead

And with that rather unconventional advertising and Vincent’s rather straight face, the kissing booth was empty for almost an hour after opening it. It was only when Tuesti, doing a last checking round around the square, came to see how things were going that things started to stir up a little. The architect paused, his large eyebrows frowning at the sign, and he slyly turned it a little, pretending to adjust it to a better public view and quietly erasing the last message, adding another one by himself. 

Instead of the brutal warning, now the board showed a shy, equally flourish writing of ‘Boys and Girls welcomed 🖤’. 

Reeve smiled at his friend, already tired of waiting by the straining look of his red eyes, but with his Turk’s posture intact. The brunette thought they would never beat that off Valentine, he was trained to be always alert, to stay put all the time, but that pose wouldn’t do in a kissing booth. He tsked, shaking his head at the raven haired man, and sheepishly approaching with the clear intent of helping the gunslinger, but deeply flustered by it.

Vincent and him were friends, bestest of friends, actually. And never the architect thought of kissing Valentine; it was something that simply didn’t spark anything inside him. At least not until that kissing booth idea started and the gunslinger showed himself as a handsome, well kept man. Okay, everyone in their group thought Valentine was pretty – one blonde pilot more than all others – but actually seeing the man all polished up with the clear intention of seducing people, even if for something innocent as a kiss, was…

For a moment there, Reeve re-thought his sexuality to the point of even doubting his affection for one Miss Yuffie Kisaragi.

The brown-eyed man stepped closer to the booth, smiling at the tired gunslinger to conceal his discomfort. It was the first time, in years of friendship, that Reeve didn’t know how to act around the ex-Turk. “So… How is it going?” 

“Excellent.” Vincent’s voice was an expressionless monotone that betrayed his real displeasure. “Except for the fact that it’s a kissing booth, and I haven’t kissed anyone yet.” 

“Careful, my friend. If anyone hears you they could think you are disappointed.” 

Vincent’s red, brilliant eyes turned to the shorter man, squinting at the amused, but visibly hesitant smile of Reeve’s face. 

On that pose, even without gun and cape, Valentine’s too young features still seemed ominous, powerful, and the architect squirmed faintly under his scrutinizing look, betraying Tuesti’s cool attitude. Over the years, and with a close friendship with AVALANCHE without the crushing weight of ShinRa’s responsibilities on his back, Reeve showed himself as very cool headed person; he could act under stress without breaking a sweat – suffering internally, yes – but with a serene and confident expression that lifted everyone’s spirits up. Valentine frowned, perhaps he was acting still too stiffly for a thing that was supposed to be fun and, as the girls mentioned a zillion times, for charity. 

So he took pity on his friend, and decided to be a little more pleasant for once. 

“So what will your order be, sir?” Vincent made a gesture towards the board, indicating its prices and offers. He folded his body over the tiny wooden counter, resting his face over a gloved hand and battling his eyelashes coquettishly at the executive. “Such a nice man like yourself could certainly benefit from a sweet kiss.” 

“Dear Planet.” Reeve panted, eyes huge. “Where were you hiding all of that?” 

“I was trained to be a Turk, Reeve. Enchanting people is only a fraction of said training.” The gunslinger smiled, far too smug to contain himself. He liked to surprise his friends with new, unexpected nuances of himself sometimes; not only because teasing them was fun, but because most of them thought he didn’t know how to act as a human just because he died once. And the key word here was act, he could be anyone he wanted to be. If he wanted to. “What’s your order, mister? All the money is for charity in this booth, so what about being generous to the little ones?” 

Tuesti laughed, delighted to see his uptight friend more relaxed, even if he suspected it was a ruse. When the women relented all their plans to the architect, he seriously thought Vincent would be difficult to deal with. The brunette was sure the older man would purposely act out, or vanish, just returning three years later even if the whole AVALANCHE suffered an attack. Hell, the Vincent they once knew wouldn’t even visit their grave if he was offended. 

Probably. Vincent was still too soft inside to act like that. 

“Okay. I’ll pay for a kiss.” The Commissioner deposited some amount of gils upon the tiny counter, brown eyes fixed on the red ones. It was still unsettling to look at Vincent’s eyes – even without Chaos, the mark of the WEAPON remained, and that yellow glow of the left iris caused quite the impact on people. “But before that, are you sure you’re alright with this, Vincent?”

Valentine glanced at the counter, quickly counting the gils. He lifted a finger, beckoning the architect closer and, when Tuesti was near enough, he pulled the man down by his necktie, smashing their lips together in a closed mouth kiss. It was a bit forceful, and far too dry even if they were friends, but it was quite different than both thought it would be.

Vincent thought he would be more displeased with the idea of kissing other people – possibly some of his friends – and was rather surprised with how easy the task came to be. All the constant guilt he felt, now he realized, were words of the beasts he carried inside, not his own conscience speaking and there was no reason to feel bad for being human. For Reeve, though, the kiss was a strange mix of awe, with his knees even trembling in response, and a great amount of disgust. 

It felt like he was kissing a brother. 

Vincent frowned, “...Was it that bad?” 

“No!” 

“Tuesti, you are looking like you just saw a reactor walking away and you wanted to cry.” 

Reeve blinked, gulping his shame with the very elucidating words of his friend. Thank the Planet Valentine didn’t sound offended by whatever stupid thing his face showed. “Vincent, the kiss was good. Very good.” The Commissioner took a deep breath, groaning as his hand ran over the slightly long brown hair. “Fuck. It was too damn good! But I don’t want to kiss you ever again, my friend.” 

The gunslinger chuckled, not taking offense to his friend’s words and seeing the man’s shoulders relax with his response. “It’s okay, Reeve. I share the sentiment.” 

Vincent could easily relate, Tuesti was close to himself, their bond more akin to a familiar one than anything romantic their mind could conjure. It was weird, probably more to Reeve than to himself, since he had a long experience with detachment to rely on. He watched the architect go, feet stumbling off on his way back to the Drinks Booth. 

It was a good thing that Reeve broke the ice of Vincent’s job as a kisser, because after him, the line started to grow. Timidly at first, with some braver WRO’s staff members, an old lady that was a frequent client of Tifa’s and had met him there a handful of times; she was really sweet, and even brought him some biscuits she had made for the AVALANCHE’s members, paying him for a cheek kiss. Then he had some couple of young boys – no more than sixteen – lurking around the booth, one of them too shy to ask for a mouth kiss even if his friends were counting the gils to help him to get a mouth kiss. 

Valentine’s senses were still beyond natural, so he could hear clearly as the group chatted and teased the younger one with his crush on the ‘Planet’s Guardian Angel’; one of them was bold enough to even point out the boy would always remember if that was his first kiss. The redheaded, green-eyed boy paid for a cheek kiss, cowering on the last moment, but Vincent smirked down at his nervous, cute and still too innocent face, and gave him a closed mouth kiss nonetheless, making the group of his friends cheer and clap enthusiastically, some of them even whistling to celebrate the boy’s victory. 

It took no time for some of Vincent’s friends to sneak in the line too; the first one after Reeve was Aerith, with a poor excuse of wanting to know how he was going. She gave him some trouble, and tried to grope his ass across the tiny countertop even with all that belly as a deterrent; Miss Fair only escaped in one piece because of the sweet baby girl she was carrying, otherwise she would’ve been scolded until her ears fell off. 

Then, when the line was already reaching the end of the venue and making a turn around it, Valentine asked for a brief respite so he could get something from the drink’s booth. Half way back, with a bottle of water in his hand and putting his wallet in his back pocket, the ex-Turk’s eyes crossed briefly with the booth’s board, making him pause. It wasn’t his writing on the board, not even the clear warning he had written on it earlier. The sign now had hearts and embellishments, and capital letters that weren’t ugly per se, but weren’t attractive either. Vincent sighed, knowing very well that one of AVALANCHE’s members had changed the board – and he had a faint idea of who it was – but he wouldn’t complain; at least he was doing a good number with the sweet, innocent kisses on children’s cheeks. 

The man assumed his position inside the booth again and called the next client, a mature, tall woman with light brown-grayish hair who regarded him with a calm, knowing smile. Vincent looked hard on those bright brown eyes, but it didn’t bring out any memory – not immediately – and yet the feeling of knowing her was there.

“The long hair suits you.” She smiled, “How old are you now?”

Vincent blinked, frowning with the personal inquiry, but trying to keep a neutral, not offensive expression. “...Do I know you?” 

“You did, once. You jumped in the cold water to save me even if your partner cursed a lot at your too soft heart.” She laughed with the memory. Now that it was all in the past, she thought the whole thing very funny. “You saved me, and I asked for a kiss from the pretty boy in a suit.” 

It was true. 

Many years ago, when he was still a Turk, Vincent had been assigned to a hunting job on the beach down Junon’s brand new city with his partner, Veld. There, they discovered there was a fishermen’s village growing under the pompous city’s structure, and that the beast terrorizing the ships was not only one, but two Bottomswells causing too much damage and terrifying the small village. They fought exhaustively to tame the beasts, but by luck – or rather lack of it, one of them fell too close to the shore, destroying part of the houses and hurting many civilians. 

One of them was a young teen girl, barely thirteen, that was hauled out to the ocean by the remaining Bottomswell. Vincent had relied on Verdot’s expertise with shots and mild accuracy with spells to finish the beast while he swam the violent tides to rescue the girl and bring her back safely to the shore. He had dropped himself and the girl on the beach, both panting and hurting, and she was only conscious enough to cough and take a good look at his features, asking for a kiss from her knight in shining armor before passing out. 

Veld teased him mercilessly for months after that, calling him things such as gorgeous prince knight, or pretty boy cavalier. Vincent was shorter at that time, and his partner was throughout in evidencing it and his pretty looks. 

“You were dragged to the ocean by a monster in Down Junon.” The ex-Turk paused, taking at the old and quite aged face he met as a young teen. It still ached a little that everyone he once met was so old while he still looked so young, but he dismissed the thought with a modest shake of his head. “Rhonda.”

“I’m glad you remembered.” Rhonda smiled, genuinely content to see Vincent again. It was a little unsettling that he was still so young, that their roles were somewhat reversed now, but she was happy he had survived. She could not know everything that happened to him, but she knew that ShinRa was involved, and that was enough to raise some concerns about the man’s life until now. “See, you never gave me that kiss, so I came to collect it.” 

Vincent chuckled, nodding at the woman. It was only fair, Rhonda had passed out before he could even comprehend what the little girl had asked for. “You’ll have to pay, though. It’s for charity.” 

She gladly put the coins on the countertop, and Vincent was… Not exactly happy to oblige his duty as a kisser, but feeling lighter to know she had survived, and was still bold enough to demand what she wanted. As his warm, pale lips touched the woman’s tanned ones, he felt another surge of emotion blooming in his chest. One that was quite alien to himself, since the ravenette couldn’t even remember when he felt proud of something he did. 

Valentine could see a fierce, smart woman in her, and he was proud he was able to save her life once. 

Rhonda took a step back, smiling at the same face she had dreamed to see again during her teenage years. Vincent had been her dream guy for years after he saved her, and she had wondered many times what had happened to the gorgeous man. Now, seeing him still so young and beautiful, it hurt her heart, for as an adult she knew life had not been kind with him. And also as an adult, the desire of retribution for Vincent saving her was stronger than any teenage lust she could still have. 

“I hope you’ll come to Down Junon, someday. I would be very glad to spend some time with you, to catch up on the last years.”

Vincent blinked, but it was with a distant, too hard expression; one he always did, but that wasn’t hidden by his cloak today. While he would love to talk more with the woman, he would also avoid talking about his past, if possible, and it was difficult to not relate Junon with his old Turk days, now. It was one of the cities he visited most while it was still being constructed. So no, he wouldn’t visit Rhonda anytime soon, for more welcoming her invitation sounded. 

The man smiled, nodding to her, but his mind was settled on that matter. At least for now. 

After Rhonda, Vincent did another fair round of cheek kisses, with quite the amount of pre-teen girls asking for a cheek kiss from their savior with their too condescending mothers right beside them. He was baffled that so many of those girls saw him as something to be admired, and more so that their mothers weren’t bothered by a strange, adult man, kissing their daughters’ cheeks. When one of those young girls, no more than 11, appeared alone and paid for a mouth kiss, Vincent decided to draw the line and put an age limit for mouth kisses. 

Only after 16, and the warning remained on the board even after the young girl explained that she paid for the kiss for her mother, in hopes that she would fall in love with Valentine. 

Like it was that simple. 

Vincent sighed, turning to the end of the booth to take a bottle of water and drinking some small sips as he prepared himself for at least another hour of people interaction before taking a break for a snack. It was tiresome, but he was admittedly more at ease than he expected himself to be, and most of his easiness was for the absence of a certain blond pilot that the ravenette refused to think about now. He took a deep breath, while he wanted to see Cid – and just that possibility made his heart skip several beats like a silly teenager – Vincent wasn’t very keen to see the pilot while he was ‘working’ on that humiliating quest.

Even if he was doing it for charity, and if everything was just an innocent play-pretend, he still felt like a maiden being whored around; but he also felt rather uncomfortable to point it out to the women of AVALANCHE when both of them had served as kissers already. Valentine snorted, thinking himself very stupid for his old-fashioned manners, as Yuffie called it, and returned to the counter, being graced with a pair of beautiful men that made him narrow his red eyes. 

The platinum-blond man was impeccably dressed as always, and the wutainese ravenette beside him was equally elegant, but both of them clashed terribly with the homely, casual atmosphere of the festival. 

Don’t mistake him, Rufus ShinRa was a pretty man, and if Valentine wasn’t already in love with another person, he would have no objections to kissing – and perhaps do something more – with Rufus. But the man was a Shinra, and that was more than enough to send all kinds of alarm in Valentine’s head. There was the fact that he was also sponsoring the Festival – even if WRO was the face of said party, it still was Rufus’ money paying for it. And although Vincent could be grateful and humble with all the help he had after fighting Omega, he couldn’t simply erase thirty years of suffering just because Shinra had a new face as its president and was trying hard to be detached from all that mess its last president caused. 

“...What are you doing here?”

“I’m being generous as always.” Rufus answered, and when the distrustful red eyes didn’t falter, he amended quite bitterly, but with his polite smile intact: “Though I paid for this festival and I had no interest in partake in it, Reeve insisted I should come, so people would start to see me more as a human being and less like the demon who helped destroying their lives once.”

Vincent just raised an eyebrow to the last remaining ShinRa, looking deeply into those blue eyes. There was pride in that stare, but also pain and loneliness, and he wouldn’t be the one to rub salt on a wound tonight, for more he hated every remaining member of that disgraceful family. Rufus was trying at least. And he should try to treat everything as waters passed the bridge, Valentine reminded himself. “I was only talking about the booth.”

Rufus smirked ruefully. That simple sentence from Vincent was a testament that he could still act up like the bastard he always was and the legendary Turk could see his ruse, but not to condemn him for it. The blond looked at Tseng and his boyfriend nodded discreetly, confirming his previous statement that Vincent Valentine was a closed, scarred man with a true Turk’s wit, but with far more consideration and heart than any other of their bunch.  

“I want a mouth kiss, please.” The heir dropped a bag with more gils than the whole night of kissing could probably provide over the counter. He smirked, seeing the red eyes squint at the bag and back to his face. 

Quiet, analytical, Vincent took a short look at the wutainese man behind Rufus. Tseng was everywhere Rufus went, that was not a surprise, but the brown eyes were slightly off Vincent’s figure and there was a faint, barely visible tint over the man’s cheeks. “Did you approve this?”

Tseng’s neutral mask crumbled for a short second, the serious face betraying his surprise that Vincent knew about Rufus and his involvement. Again, the legendary Turk was nothing if extremely perceptive, and had shown them countless times that he only had to observe for a few moments to understand a situation. But Rufus and Tseng’s romance was something kept to themselves, deeply private, or else enemies could use it against Rufus’ efforts to reconstruct the planet; that and a lifetime hiding it from the old ShinRa president made the two of them keep the relationship as a dirty, terrible secret that no one should know about. The only confirmation Valentine had was their polite interactions and their – sometimes – lingering eyes. 

So currently, only Tseng, Rufus and Vincent knew. The others could only suspect. 

The younger Turk nodded, giving Vincent his permission to kiss his boyfriend and took a step back as Rufus put himself right at Valentine’s front, but the gunslinger didn’t move to do anything yet. The blond frowned, “Do you realize there’s enough money in this bag to pay for a night of kisses and more, don’t you?” 

“I don’t trust you won’t trick me into something dirty.” 

“You wounded me!” Rufus gaped, his soft, manicured hand coming to his chest in a mocking gesture of hurt. It was only reasonable, he thought, after everything that Shinra did to its employees – those near Hojo more than anyone else – but it still was a terrible thing to admit; that he would be always seen with mistrust for more he tried to act against it. But now wasn’t the time for thinking about that, he was there to get a kiss from the beautiful man who could’ve been his – as a Turk, of course, if Hojo wasn’t a greedy bastard. 

“Alright. I promise I won’t order you to do anything else.” 

Vincent raised an eyebrow and moved, pulling the blonde towards the counter and giving him a quick, fierce kiss on the mouth. It was so quick and so rough that Rufus barely had time to taste Valentine’s lips, just feeling the soft surface touch his mouth and away in the span of seconds. He pouted like the spoiled child he was and took a step aside, pulling Tseng to his side. 

“Now kiss him.” Rufus ordered and Vincent’s face closed in a truly thunderous expression. 

In a couple of minutes the blond broke his own promise, pushing his boyfriend to the counter and ignoring the two ravenettes’ stare. Surprisingly, Tseng was in a very similar position to Valentine, both looking at the blond Shinra with various degrees of ire. Vincent was angry because Rufus promised he wouldn’t try to boss him around, and Tseng was mad because he wasn’t questioned about kissing another man, and oh, he didn’t kiss anyone beyond Rufus for almost 8 years now. 

Vincent looked at the two boyfriends, taking at the satisfied smirk on Rufus’ face and the quiet, contained desire inside Tseng’s eyes. So it was a ruse, they had probably talked about this before and Vincent was sure his name came up as possible other partners or attractive people they would do, if they had a chance; like some dirty fantasy between them. It still baffled him that people thought him attractive, and that they sometimes showed interest in him, but at least he wasn’t opposed to kissing Tseng like he was with Rufus. 

From all of the Turks – from now and before – the wutaian was the closest to himself in personality, and he felt safe enough around him to grant the man some level of trust. 

“Come closer.” 

Valentine inclined himself, waiting for the man to stand up very near the narrow countertop. Like everything about the wutaian, his back was erect and his expression was quite restrained, but Valentine could see the younger’s nervousness quite easily. Tseng was efficient, capable, and currently the head of their organization; but Vincent was – technically – his senior, and something about the older/younger agents dynamic sure was playing in the younger’s mind. The ex-Turk smirked, another buried feeling blooming in his chest, much alike with pride, when he realized he was the one evoking such a reaction from the man. 

And yet, here he was, wanting the only person who didn’t want him. Valentine frowned with the remembrance of Highwind, and dismissed the thought with a deep sigh, focusing on the wutaian before himself.

“Close your eyes, Tseng.” Vincent instructed, smiling fondly at the other man. He liked Tseng, more like a younger brother or a convoluted father-son bond, but he didn’t feel comfortable thinking how old he was and how similar they were physically at that moment. He put his hand over the man’s chin, and touched his lips with a slow, delicate kiss. 

Tseng held his breath and froze into place, only regaining the strength on his legs and opening his eyes when the gloved hand retreated from his face. He was slightly dazed, a strange feeling between elation and guilt for kissing another man that wasn’t his partner, but in all, he was good. He felt Rufus’ hand closing around his, and he squeezed it tenderly, in a discreet show of helping the blond to move easier with his still needed cane. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Just… Let’s try to avoid repeating the experience.” Tseng answered, looking quite apologetic. 

Vincent chuckled, “You’re not the first to tell me that.” Valentine put the money away, locking it inside the tiny safe under the counter and giving the two men a ‘shoo’ gesture. “Now move, I have other clients to attend to.” 

Rufus looked behind him, noticing the too long line and smiled, naughtily. The mock was on the tip of his tongue, but Tseng just shook his head and nodded his goodbyes to Vincent, leaving the man to contribute with the festival in peace.

Just when Vincent thought the line would finally empty, it started to grow again, and Yuffie’s excited figure came to pester the ravenette for a kiss. Valentine wouldn’t be opposed to giving her a kiss – he knew of her teenage obsession for years, but she would have to pay for it just like any other customer of the fair. 

Miss Kisaragi refused to pay due to their years of friendship, and Vincent had no remorse to expel her from the booth like the true child she still was: by her ear. She went out of the line complaining he was violent and a menace and that he had no idea of the opportunity he had to kiss the most beautiful ninja from the whole world, the mighty princess Yuffie Kisaragi, the white rose of Wutai and blah blah blah.

All of the woman's complaints fell on deaf ears – he would not give her that victory after the comment about no one wanting to kiss him – and the other booths were too far or too busy for any of their friends to take her pain. Yuffie was even unlucky enough to cross paths with Reno on the way back, and of course the red-haired Turk would go out of his way just to mock her back to her own booth. 

Vincent was to pretend he didn’t see the salute the Turk threw in his direction but changed his mind and nodded to the younger man, getting back to his still too big line of clients. He gave a few more forehead kisses on old ladies, and only two mouth kisses that weren’t so bothersome as he thought it would be because of the similarities between the men and Cid Highwind. Vincent also knew he was lying to himself in saying he didn’t miss the pilot and that those kisses didn’t give him a bitter taste in his mouth. It felt wrong to kiss two blond, packed blue eyed men when he was in love with his best friend.

And then he felt slightly worse to admit it to himself, enough that his face was closed into a deep frown when a young girl approached the booth.

“Uncle Vincent, why are you so angry?” The girl asked, hands poised at her waist and looking up, to the deep crease of his eyebrows. It was rare that someone saw anything on Valentine’s face like that, and the pre-teen recognized it immediately as anger. “You look like dad when someone does something wrong to me.”

“I am not angry.” 

“You’re frowning.” The girl put her hand on her waist and mimicked his frown. 

The gunslinger looked down at what was the girl’s picture of his expression and sighed, relaxing his face and shoulders, forgetting about the other clients to focus on the child he had seen grow up quite a lot in the last few years. Marlene had been one of the firsts to break Vincent’s walls, months after they defeated Sephiroth, putting herself below his cloak and closer to his heart even with all the warnings and the annoyed expressions he did towards her. The little girl was persistent, and had extracted a smile from him on her sixth birthday, only months after she started to climb and pester him to be her weird uncle that smelled like sweet earth right before rain. 

That’s what made Vincent smile, when he realized she probably never smelled real leather in her life, and that she was always glued to him because she liked that scent. He gifted her a leathery ribbon hair from the same shop he used to buy his clothes after that, and she rubbed it on her face and screamed excitedly that it smelled just as good as him. The man made a habit of repeating the gift year by year, with ribbons, purses, bracelets and whatever girly thing he could find from the same material. And she never stopped clinging to his figure, making Valentine realize later she truly liked his company, not only his smells. 

The girl smiled, shaking her hips side by side just seconds before she put a small amount of coins over the counter. “I want a kiss, uncle Vincent!” 

The man looked down, and was ready to answer when another child came running with a shout of “Marlene!” before stopping dead beside the line and widening his blue eyes to the girl leaning over the counter. Vincent narrowed his eyes to Denzel, seeing the boy’s cheek tint bright red upon seeing Marlene and the booth’s sign, and he fought to contain his smile. Despite the small difference in age, with Denzel turning 13 in a couple of months and Marlene with 10, Valentine knew the boy was starting to see Barret’s daughter under another light. 

More as a matter of worry than a source of fun.

They were soon to enter their teenage years, and it was obvious to Valentine that Denzel was getting protective of the younger girl. For a moment there, he thought the boy would be angry for Marlene to be in the line of a kissing booth, but upon seeing Vincent’s presence the boy seemed mollified in his worries. Denzel took a step aside, and turned his head down, ashamed to watch the girl as she tapped over the counter with a handful of gils.

“I want a big kiss, uncle Vince!”

The ravenette smiled, and did a small show of thinking about the girl’s words. His pensive face got Denzel’s attention, and he smiled minutely at the boy, winking reassuringly at him. “Your options lie on a cheek kiss or a forehead kiss.”

“Hmmm.” Marlene did a small frown, mimicking Vincent’s thinking body language and she was ready to choose one when another voice echoed around the square. 

“MARLENE!” 

Barret’s big, stressed figure was quickly approaching the booth, and his normal angered visage was only slightly terrifying with the kitsch, old fashioned apron he was using over his normal combat clothes. It was sewn in an orange-white polka dot cloth, with brown and white frills all over the border, and it was too narrow for Barret’s large chest and robust waist, making him look like a stuffed bear using a doll’s clothes. 

Vincent snorted audibly. It was impossible to feel scared of something like that. 

But yet, the little girl yelped, and turned to Valentine with desperate eyes. “Quick, uncle Vincent, give me any kiss.” 

The gunslinger narrowed his eyes to the child. “Marlene, did you run away here?” 

“Dad said it wasn’t a booth for children, but I wanted a kiss from you.” The girl looked down, hands curling on the hem of her blouse. “You never give me a kiss, not even on my birthdays.” 

Vincent smiled, his heart constricting for the girl he had seen grow so much along the years. She was still small – and he suspected she would always be small to him – but he couldn’t look at her sweet face and didn’t see the brave child that once saw him transform into a fearsome, ferocious beast and didn’t even blink when he transformed back to himself. She had clung to him that night, making sure he was cared for, fed and warm, after Valentine used his Limit Break to stop some deranged monsters that were attacking the camp where it would soon become Edge’s town. 

She was only five, they had barely met, and she didn’t even blink at his ugly bits.

Vincent nodded, bending down over the counter to the child’s height and stretching his hand to the girl, putting her just a tad closer to himself. “This one is what you paid for.” He held her cheek, kissing one side of it. Then, with hand still cradling gently at her chin, Vincent turned her head to the other side. “And this one, is an apology for all the years I haven't kissed you before.” 

Valentine kissed Marlene’s cheek under the massive shadow of the girl’s father, and he almost expected to see two brown eyes trying to disintegrate him with only a stare as he straightened his posture. It wasn’t towards him that Barret’s brown eyes were focused, though. 

“Marlene! Ya can’t go runnin’ away without tellin’ me.” The brown skinned man put his hand over his waist, and there was a subtle sound of amusement from the ex-Turk that Barret did everything he could to ignore. If he knew the women would put him in such a ridiculous outfit, he would’ve passed on the Barbecue job. “And worse, ya stole my wallet too, didn’t ya?” 

“But dad, I wanted a kiss from uncle Vincent.” The girl pouted, and at that moment she could feel two pairs of adult eyes focused on her. 

“Marlene, thievery is wrong. You shouldn’t have done that.” Vincent admonished gently, without even thinking about the girl’s father’s presence right beside him. “If I knew that in advance, you wouldn’t have your kiss. Now apologize to your father; he was worried about you.” 

The girl pouted, and was sad that Vincent was admonishing her. That was something that never happened before. “Ah’m sorry, dad. And I’m sorry that I lied to you, Uncle Vincent.” 

“It’s okay, munchkin, but don’t repeat that!” Barret said with a stern voice and a deep crease between his eyebrows. 

The eyes of the big man mellowed right after, and Vincent looked at Barret’s figure with an amount of incredulity that was still baffling even after so many years of friendship. The other gunslinger was a mass of contradictions, where his visuals and manners showed audacity and rudeness, his attitude showed a loving, careful person. With a too sly wink, and knowing he was risking being petty like so many other times where Barret and him provoked each other, the ravenette turned to the girl he was still holding the hand of. 

“Marlene,” Vincent called, voice back to its natural tone. “Why don’t you pay your father a kiss as an apology?” 

The brown eyes of the child gleamed, ignorant of her dad’s visible shock. “A big one?” 

“A big one.” 

Vincent waited for the girl to count the amount of gils and put it on the counter, quickly collecting it and putting it in the tiny box reserved for money. The gunslinger released the child’s hand, curling it softly on the neckline of Barret’s apron – that was about 15 centimeters up his large waistline and looked tiny over the man’s tank top – and pulled him down and closer to Vincent’s height. That close, the ex-Turk could see red spreading all over the dark skinned man’s cheek, and he was just a tad smug to be able to payback for the time Barret made him blush – profusely – by pointing out that Vincent had been mistaken as a hooker while they dressed up for a WRO’s meeting in Costa del Sol. 

Valentine was careful to approach the burly man, and even more polite when his soft lips touched Barret’s for a moment, giving him all the affection he could muster. They were friends despite the bickering, and he was grateful for the man to be at his side when Vincent needed, so he thought it harmless to show a little bit of his gratitude with a kiss. 

Barret straightened himself with the same awestruck and disgusted face that Reeve had done earlier, and Vincent laughed openly, marvelous at how much his Turk training still came in handy. He was put as a kisser in the women’s effort to make him more comfortable and uninhibited around people and he was, by far, the only one of his friends truly comfortable with it. 

The irony was delicious. 

He watched as Wallace took the girl into his arms and up his shoulders, looking thoroughly shocked and embarrassed on their way back to the Barbecue Booth. Vincent turned to Denzel, seeing the suffering boy still standing awkwardly around the kissing booth and undecided of following Barret and his half sister. The ravenette beckoned the boy closer, taking some gils from his own pocket and releasing it in the boy’s hands. “Hey. Why don’t you take Marlene for a walk around the square? Take her to the Dandy Booth and write her a soft warning card.” 

“...Why would I do that?” 

“Because you followed her here. You were worried, weren’t you?” Valentine smiled when the boy refused to answer, but his blushing cheeks were enough as a confirmation. Feeling rather confident that Denzel would listen to his advice now, Vincent did the unprecedented movement of shuffling the boy’s hair, letting his hand run down to the boy’s shoulder and giving him a tiny squeeze. “Write to her that you will always be there to protect your little sister, I’m sure she will be able to understand that you were worried too.” 

Denzel nodded, holding tightly at the coins Vincent gave him and glowing with the bit of affection he received from the man. Besides Cloud, Valentine was the person Denzel admired most, because he was a man with a tragic past – he knew the man’s story for the meager bits he was able to listen from AVALANCHE’s talks – and because Vincent was always alert to anything around them. He offered protection with only his silent presence and concealed strength, and it was something that Denzel craved for since he lost his parents at the fall of Midgar. 

At that moment, feeling valued by the gunslinger, the boy stuttered the words that Marlene uttered so easily, but was always stuck inside his chest. “Thank you… Uncle Vincent?” 

Vincent smiled, and gave the boy a little nod, seeing him running to reach Barret and ask the man for a walk with Marlene. 

The gunslinger returned to the long line of clients with a renewed determination, and pleasantly surprised that Denzel had finally shown a little bit of affection after years acting too much like Cloud. While Vincent considered himself quite cold, and was always feeling awkward for any personal interactions he was forced to acknowledge – even between AVALANCHE’s members, he never had problems with the kids being affectionate towards himself. And he had worried with how much Denzel seemed to mimic Cloud’s behavior of distance and reticence, knowing from experience that it wasn’t good for him in the long term. 

Cloud and Vincent had motives to be that way. They were two old battered soldiers forced into that mindset after having their bodies violated in the name of science; it would take time for them to open up and be less apprehensive around people. They were managing it, but it was a day to day fight. Denzel, though, was still young, and had no reason to act like that. The whole team made conscious and collective efforts to include the child and show him he was welcomed and free to express himself, and even Strife had made a point to show Denzel that. It seemed that finally the boy was crossing the last bridge to what had become his family over the years and accepting that he would never be refused or just chastised for being part of it. 

Valentine was happy to see and be part of that, and that Denzel had finally given him the moniker as an uncle as much as Marlene had many years before. It made him feel good, and loved by those children.

The ex-Turk shooed the familiar thoughts aside and attended quite a few clients after the kids before a huge man jumped at the front of the booth, his tree trunk-like arms stretching invitingly towards the festival’s people and distracting the many eyes off Vincent’s thin figure. The gunslinger was glad that the whole attention was off his person for a moment, but narrowed his red eyes on the man he hadn’t seen for a while with a great deal of suspicion and underlying fear.

Vincent truly, shamefully, felt like a maiden before a perverse king ready to snatch her away at that moment. And he felt also incredibly stupid and amused by this comparison. 

The man in question was Dio, the current director of the Gold Saucer and a great source of help to WRO in the past years after Sephiroth’s crisis. And though Valentine had seen the man a few times while he traveled with his friends and while he helped Tuesti and the Planet’s reconstruction, he didn’t have time to reconnect with the man or even think about how much they two changed after so many years. They weren’t friends when Vincent was still a Turk, but they were good colleagues and he could count one or two times where they met outside work for a casual drink and chit chat. 

One thing was sure though, all the times Vincent met Dio in the last years, the man was shockingly underdressed. And doing unpredictable, too flamboyant things. 

Dio sent kisses to his fans, making poses to evidence his muscles and his ridiculous outfit – that was quite modest today, as he was dressed in a too tight pair of black shorts and with a long dark green jacket adorned with silver over a bare chest. Instead of the golden cape, he had only a silk scarf of the most beautiful shade of peacock green hanging freely around his neck. 

“Now, there it is! When fate gives us such a good opportunity, what do we do?” The man asked the crowd, and they cheered in unison: ‘We take it!’ 

The bodybuilder walked to the booth, and Vincent groaned internally. 

“Here I am to give this pretty young man the honor of my kiss!” Dio announced in his rambunctious and strong voice, and the people around him cheered again, clapping hands and whistling echoing around the square even more than when he was talking with them.

Without waiting much, the man folded himself over the small Booth’s counter and went to snatch Valentine’s arm, then his whole body by the opening, pulling him flushed against his large and hairy naked chest. For the viewers delight – and for some miracle that would never be replicated in a lifetime – Vincent let it happen, cheeks painted red with the show of a prolonged, but somehow well behaved mouth kiss. Dio’s large hands circled around Vincent’s waist like he was a rag doll, and the gunslinger suddenly saw himself being shown towards the large line – still too large, wouldn’t people give up on kissing him already? – like he was a precious asset on the man’s show. 

With the same quick way in which he entered that part of the square, Dio put the man down and was walking away, and Valentine had only time to grasp at the man’s arm before he vanished completely with his fair share of fans. 

With a neutral expression, but red eyes gleaming menacingly, Vincent whispered: “Dio, remember that last time in Kalm? Do it again and I will fulfill my threat.” 

The too egocentric man laughed, dismissing Valentine’s words for his public to see, but Vincent saw the moment he understood the message and nodded shortly in accordance. 

Many years before, when Valentine was only a Turk, he had been assigned to help Dio in an infiltration to rescue a precious necklace from a mobster’s hands. It was a nightmare in matters of planning, and Vincent had begrudgingly accepted the mission because he was the only Turk young enough – and androgynous enough – to go undercover as Dio’s companion. After they finished the job, with many more bullets and deaths than Valentine initially planned and too much unrequited attention on his person, they returned to the hotel they previously booked as a disguise with Dio drugged and quite handsy towards Vincent. 

That night Valentine gave him one mouth kiss and a hard punch to the eye, and promised if Dio ever tried to kiss him again he wouldn’t hesitate to put a gun on the man’s head and pull the trigger. Vincent was amazed to see his threat worked on the drugged, out of his mind man, even if the ex-Turk was dressed into a purple couture dress with a fishtail silhouette that evidenced too much of his butt and high heels that he – unfortunately – wasn’t able to use to kill any man that night. 

And he truly had desired that, craving for killing at least one of the goons with poorly concealed sexual innuendos and horrible taste in suits. 

Vincent was amazed that Dio still remembered his words, and was slightly afraid of his threat to this day, even being a ton heavier than Valentine himself now. The Gold Saucer’s owner was already off the booth when Vincent's voice echoed again, “Hey, Dio. Pay up, this is not for free.” 

The man gave an apologetic, uneasy smile for being remembered about such a triviality and made a small show of producing a little bag of gils from somewhere along his body. He tossed it to Vincent and made a small show of taking his scarf off, throwing it to the ravenette. “A memento for you, handsome.” 

The ex-Turk sighed, giving the bodybuilder a tiny nod as a thanks for the payment and begrudgingly accepting the present, folding the scarf and putting it in his pant’s pocket. Dio did another couple of poses and started to walk back towards the park’s entrance, dragging his fans away from Valentine’s (still too cluttered) booth. 

After that, Vincent decided he wanted another pause, and to wash his mouth, because he was starting to feel dirty after kissing so many people and he could not think clearly after being jostled around under many flattering adjectives. Usually, the people coming to his booth were more reserved, and knew how to behave around him.

Chapter Text

ℍ𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕪𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕟
𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕
'ℂ𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖, 𝕟𝕠𝕨
𝕄𝕚𝕩𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕜𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕜𝕖
𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕟𝕠 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖
ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣
[𝔹𝕠𝕟 𝕁𝕠𝕧𝕚 - ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕪 ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕤]

The group crossed the majestic, illuminated arch of the square’s entrance as one, talking excitedly and at the same time about where to go, what to do. Part of the group wanted to eat, part of them wanted to go for a beer first, and the Captain only wanted to find his friends, drink and eat some grub and call it a day. All that happiness and that cheerful spirit wasn’t for him, and after weeks piloting and using too much of his brain, Cid Highwind was starting to feel his 37 years of life. 

The Captain’s battered and very disgruntled form was bombarded by colors and sounds from every direction, making it difficult for the man to recognize someone amidst so many faces. There were soldiers he knew from WRO’s work, and people he used to deal with while giving help as a mechanic to Edge’s repair, there were people he had seen passing by many times, a sea of faces and not even one he wanted to see. In truth, Cid was getting too old for those kinds of things, and he only came because Tuesti insisted – using any form of pleading he could muster to convince the pilot to come to the Festival. 

(Reeve’s tactic failed, in fact, and the architect had asked Anna – Cid’s co-pilot, to bring Highwind to the Festival, bribing the crew with a much deserved vacation if they managed doing that. That rendered Cid a small mutiny of sorts, and the crew got together at the bridge to drag the man out of the pilot’s seat and tie him on a bench until they were landing safe and sound – a lot of sound from the excited crewmen – in Edge’s airport. Cid was only untied, alongside one of his mechanics that was also against coming to the Festival, when the motors were finally shut down and everyone was out of the SHERA.)

So Highwind was there, slightly pissed and generously tired, without any of his friends in sight and a bunch of traitors dragging him around. 

Don’t mistake him, the spearman liked his crew. They were like a family to him as much as AVALANCHE’s members. Anna, the youngest, was like a daughter to him (if he had had children with 14 years, that is), and he wasn’t really angry for them to want some time off to drink and relax after so much work around the Planet. Cid was angry because Reeve, and later Anna, had made it clear that not every AVALANCHE member came to the Festival in time, and he didn’t need to be a genius – which he was – to know who was missing.

The blond was pissed because the only man who could make that stupid, flamboyant Festival worthy wasn’t there. And after months only working and ferrying things around, Highwind was missing his best friend; he was craving for some moment with the tall, stoic gunslinger, to share a drink with Vincent and watch his expressionless, but beautiful face behind the cloak’s collar. 

Damn, he was so smitten by the man that only thinking about Valentine did funny things in his chest. And that made him even more pissed, because he could be preparing his personal airplane to depart and go to any location where his friend was instead of being at a stupid, colorful fair. 

Cid grouched, dragging his feet around – and very slow behind his group – when he was almost knocked down by a group of teens walking towards the line of a weird toy where fake fat chocobos spun around a fixed axis. One of them tossed a careless ‘Sorry!’ towards the pilot’s direction, and while he got angry with the way his arm was almost dislocated with the movement, the man couldn’t help but listening to the kids talk:

“Oh, Goddess! He’s so pretty up close!” 

“And he smells so good. Like a mix of leather and funeral roses or some shit like that.” 

“Duh. He’s a vampire, what did ya expect?” 

The group kept walking, and Highwind spun around, pretending to look at some of his friends and following the group a few paces ahead. He saw the moment when the other teenagers laughed, and a small chubby girl with glasses added:

“Actually, he smells like Night Blooming Jasmine. You know, those white flowers that only bloom right after sunset?”

“Don’t they attract bats and insects?” 

The tanned boy with blue eyes and strong frame that made Cid remember of himself in his late teen years, did a visible, very exaggerated pout as he hugged the chubby girl’s shoulder and they stopped at the line. “ Yeah. Disgusting.” 

“You’re just jealous, Richard!” She hit him playfully on the stomach and they kept walking, following the line along the attraction’s entrance, ignorant of Cid’s closeness and paying no attention to the man’s intrigued face. “And those lips are sooooo soft, you should’ve paid for one too.”

Highwind frowned, watching the group walk away, still talking and laughing excitedly, and something coiled uncomfortably inside his chest. It was longing, and a low burning for the missing gunslinger, because the kids description of a stranger met all of Vincent’s requirements; and Cid was well aware that the sentiment had become his sole companion in endless nights for the past year, since he realized he was, in fact, in love with his best friend. 

Cid had been stupid to marry Shera, and the divorce had been even worse than the minute decision of bringing her to the courthouse and putting a ring on her finger. In both cases, he felt trapped by his own moral code; firstly his guilt over the hurt he caused her for many years, and then feeling guilt for laying down beside the woman every night, looking at her long brown hair and wishing it was black as the night they were shrouded in. 

The last straw was when Shera realized he loved Vincent instead of her, and his excuses to not face it ended. It was a good thing, in the end, but his longing had not diminished because they were constantly apart. And Cid had never been a coward, but he couldn’t muster enough courage to look Valentine in the eye and say that he loved him.

There was a risk of losing the ravenette’s friendship if he declared himself, and Cid wasn’t prepared for it. 

The blond walked aimlessly back to his own group, cursing himself and his cowardice, and stopped momentarily under the shadow of the new monument of Midgar’s Fall. Cid looked up, and his blue eyes drove themselves to the tiny winged figure that represented the Planet’s last brush with death, and that was now immortalized in the Omega’s monument to their survival. The Captain frowned, eyes fixed on the figure that could be a representation of Chaos and its victory, but was in fact made after his best friend, Vincent Valentine. 

The only man on that Planet that smelled like Night Blooming Jasmine and leather, and he knew he would not encounter today.

Misery must’ve been pitying him right now. 

“Hey, sir!” The co-pilot, Anna, called amidst people, coming to pull Cid back towards their group again. She stopped, looking at the way his eyes traveled the winged metallic figure, and she put herself beside him with a quiet, not so obnoxious smile. Anna was a young brunette with half of her hair painted blue, her big blue eyes matching the color and making a good contrast with the orange toned freckles on her face. She was chubby and quite muscular for her 5’1” of height, and had a strength on her hands that put most of Cid’s crew in fear, but she was also very sweet and knew when she should tone down her excitement.

Truth was, not only Anna, but most of Cid’s employees knew the Captain fell in love with the mysterious gunslinger that sometimes they crossed paths with. It was obvious by the way the blond favored the other’s opinions and how he always seemed at ease with Valentine near, less abrasive and quite content with the life beyond his work and passion for the skies. They two were usually left alone on the bridge until late at night, and every crewman knew of the unusual sleeping arrangements they both had whenever Vincent traveled with them. 

Anna also knew, since her very first days as a trainee, that Valentine slept in Cid’s quarters due to his nightmares, and that Highwind himself was sure to maintain that deal since their AVALANCHE days. She had caught both in the room one morning, and it was so natural of them, that she refused to believe they were only friends at first. 

It took her some months to see that nothing was really happening between them and comprehend that her boss was pining over the oblivious gunslinger. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Just like the man himself.”

“Yeah.” Cid nodded, absentmindedly. It was bittersweet to remember those days during Omega’s battle and the subsequent days looking for Valentine without so much a word if he survived. The man felt his arm being pulled in an affectionate, quite childish way, and looked down at his very short and very excitable subordinate. He felt like a nuisance with all the happiness around himself, and it was ironic that he – and not the aforementioned ravenette – felt that way. 

“Come on, boss, I’ll pay you a beer. You’ll feel better after that.” 

Highwind grinned at that. There was no harm in indulging a little to taper down that ache, and let the woman guide him through the people with a less abrasive, and more natural frown, quickly reaching their group so they could walk in tandem towards Tifa’s stand to a much deserved round of booze. Around ten paces away from the Drinks stand, though, Cid spotted the obnoxiously long line of one of the booths and stopped, then walked slowly towards it, curiously watching the approaching scene as he caught a glimpse of Red XIII, with his fire tail undulating from side to side, at the start of the line. 

The beast was up on his hind legs, his front paws leaning on the booth’s counter and waiting for something. 

Cid’s eyes trailed up, to the plate announcing Kisses, and then back at the figure inside the booth, talking with someone else at the back. The person serving as kisser was tall and dressed in a comfy, modern wool cardigan in a very flattering wine color, with a long, shiny black hair that made Cid’s heart ache once more. When they turned, the pilot’s eyes bulged, recognizing Vincent – Vincent Fucking Valentine – doing the unthinkable gesture of approaching and kissing Nanaki’s snout. 

Not that Cid was worried that his friend – best friend and secret love interest – was kissing another of his friends; Nanaki was possibly the most innocent of them. No, Cid was dying inside, his knees like jelly on that cobblestone pavement, because Vincent was the kissing maiden of the festival this year!

And what a gorgeous, beautiful maiden he was! Cid had rarely seen Vincent dressed with anything other than his usual clothes and a pair of black, old, long sleeved pajamas, and he was drawn to Valentine like a stupid, hypnotized moth to a bright electric lamp. 

Fuck, Highwind would let that light burn him to his own death at any given day. 

“Sir?” Anna called, turning around and looking for the pilot. He was frozen like a statue in the middle of the pavement, a lot of paces ahead. “Sir! Are you coming?”

“Nah. Keep goin’. Ah think Ah saw- Ah’ll be right back.” 

The woman watched her boss jogging away for a few moments, then shrugged and returned to the Drinks Booth, where most of the crew was already drinking and laughing loudly. 

⊱──⊰ 

Tifa had finally stopped, the mulled wine ready and simmering low over the stove, in quantity enough for at least two nights of heavy drinking, and took her time to sit and relax a little. Cloud was there, taking his break and resting over the countertop, munching on a golden brown portion of pork and sipping water – much for the woman’s dismay. Right beside her was Aerith, and since she was too large to do any job, she had been keeping Tifa company for the night, sitting on a comfy chair that Zack had dragged around for her and occasionally doing some rounds around the square and visiting her friends. 

“How are things going?” Tifa asked, coming to snatch some of Cloud’s pork ribs, and receiving only a small warning look. She licked the sauce off her fingers under a very attentive pair of blue eyes, not much worried about Cloud's warning. They were used to share food like that.

“Good. Everyone seems okay with their jobs, even Vincent seems to be managing it.” 

Reeve, who was doing another check around the square, collecting the money and directing it to their safe, came to rest and finally drink something. His throat was getting dry and his head was spinning with all the tasks and work still happening around his person; Tuesti honestly desired that someone could take the lead sometimes. Sighing, he thanked the soldier acting as waitress that served him some wine – a weird beverage boiled with water, fruits, spices and some sugar that only Tifa could to turn into a God’s blessing – and caught Cloud’s words over their taciturn friend. “That he is. Better than I thought when you two put me in your plan.” The Commissioner pointed at Tifa and Aerith’s figure. 

The both women laughed, and Cloud turned to welcome the man with a simple nod as he walked around the booth and pulled a chair to sit himself. 

“Did any of you go to his booth?” 

“I did.” Aerith answered, and her mischievous smile made her three other friends laugh in advance to her words. “Paid for two kisses, and almost ALMOST could grab his butt when he leaned down to kiss me. I think I’ve never seen Vincent show so much emotion on his face!” 

“Aerith! That was mean.” Tifa chastised gently, but not very convincing with her cheeks pulling themselves to a reluctant smile. 

“I went, too.” Cloud offered, and suddenly all the eyes were glued on him, making the swordsman blush profusely. It wasn’t rare that Cloud became uncomfortable with regular things, but it was unusual that it was strong enough for making him blush. “I was curious. Vincent is always so quiet, so guarded. I think it would be difficult for him to do that.” 

Tifa gave a very inappropriate snicker at that. How ironic that Cloud – the only one with an ounce of Vincent’s behavior – could see it from the raven haired man, but not from himself. She took a sip of her own wine, and was still amused when she asked him: “And how was it?” 

“Weird. But good.” Cloud answered, his face closing into a frown. “His lips are very soft, but it felt strange to kiss him.” 

“Like kissing a brother, isn’t it?” Reeve added, and they looked at each other with a knowing, sharing gleam inside their eyes. 

At that, the women around them exploded in laughter, and the men could only wait for them to stop to return to a more sedate talking. While they laughed, Barret came to take some drink, knowing Marlene was playing with Denzel in one of the festival’s attractions and that they would return in half an hour to eat. With that, he had time to take his own break from the grill and check in with his friends. 

The dark skinned man looked skeptically at the two laughing women and then at the other two male. “The hell happen’d to them?”

“They thought it funny because we kissed Valentine.” 

“Aw, crap! You too?” Barret’s face closed into a pout, and though he wasn’t as disgruntled as he seemed to be, he still felt like he needed to keep his supposed animosity towards the other gunslinger. It was a façade, and all of their friends knew, but it was good for his ego. “Marlene paid me a kiss with the bastard. It was awful.” 

At that, the women laughed until their faces were red and the air was faltering on their lungs. 

“Damn, so all of us kissed the guy?” Barret asked, and though he was rude with his gestures and whole demeanor, he was still thoughtful. “I’m wonderin’ how he’s feelin’ now.” 

“Better than we expected.” Tuesti answered, stretching his body over the chair to relax his muscles and pulling his cup over the near counter. He had drunk it a little too fast, but it had dampened his headache anyway. “He seems quite okay with all of his friends taking bites of him.” 

“No. Not all of them. Tifa didn’t kiss him.” 

“Err… I never said that, Cloud.” 

At that, all of the booth’s eyes turned to the bartender, and she blushed again, from shame now. “Vincent kissed me back in Costa del Sol, when we were running from some ShinRa troopers.” 

“Tifa! You never told me that!” 

“I didn’t think Vincent would be okay with me spreading it around, sorry.” 

The ravenette woman looked at Aerith apologetically, and the pregnant brunette took her hand with an understanding nod of her head. They two were the most concerned in matters of Vincent’s discomfort while they traveled, so they were also very forgiving about any attitude they had to take towards the man. Still holding Aerith’s hand, and that was a gesture of comfort for Tifa, after seeing her best friend die, she looked at Cloud’s curious and – rarely seen – jealous face. 

“We were running from the troops and Vincent spotted an alley, so he pulled me to it, discarded his cloak and jacket over some disgusting pud on the floor and pressed me against the wall. It was so fast!” The bartender gasped, it was still baffling to her to remember how efficient and how quickly Valentine managed to change at that moment. After everything happened, she was baffled at seeing a small fraction of his Turk mind in action. “I mean, in a minute he was Vincent and the next he was a guy in black shirt with buttons undone, hair tied up and he was all over me. It was amazing! Sorry, Cloud.” 

The swordsman just grunted. Even he couldn’t argue that Vincent had a strong, seductive presence, and that if he routinely made use of it, no man had a chance with any other women on this planet. Knowing that didn’t make Strife more at ease that his girlfriend had been kissed, and thoroughly kissed, by one of his closest friends. And worse, that she still thought of it as something special, a one of a kind type of encounter that no man – including him – was able to beat. 

They were still talking and laughing around their embarrassment towards the sudden sexy, predatory gunslinger they discovered in their friend when there was a loud and very amiss noise in the distance. It was some kind of ruckus and shouts, and by their long experience, they knew instantly that it was a fight. 

Tifa, still sitting on her chair, her legs too tired after hours walking around, carrying heavy pans and cooking, groaned. At another loud sound, they all got up and ran to the pavement around the monument, gathering there and looking in all directions to try and see where the ruckus was coming from. 

Cloud spotted it first, then Reeve, and directed the group towards the previous long line that was quickly becoming a circle of curious people. 

Tifa followed, not exactly running because she was helping Aerith through the citizens. “Please, tell me it’s not one of us.” 

Cloud looked at the mess of limbs and blows he could already see clearly from there and winced. “It certainly is one of us.” 

Barret stopped, blinking when he recognized the long, slim silhouette and the blond packed guy that was tackled down. “By the Planet! It’s Valentine!” Worried, the burly man stretched his arms and started to swim between people, pushing them apart so AVALANCHE could come closer to the fight. 

When they finally arrived, Vincent was dealing the final blow on a burly, rough man’s head, making his strong figure no more than a dirty cloth on the ground and at his feet. 

The ravenette was furious, and the kissing booth where he was previously working in was in shambles around himself; but as he turned, red eyes storming and face closed into a deep frown, he only had eyes for the blond pilot beside him, sitting slowly after a hard strike to the head. Vincent rushed to Highwind’s side, helping him to get up and sit over one of the chairs that was – miraculously – still standing. 

“Highwind. Chief, are you alright?” 

Cid blinked, and his vision was a little funny, but he was alive and it was better than the option. It would be a pity if he had fought against Sephiroth with his friends only to die from a caveman’s blow to the head. The blond snorted, chuckling with his rather thin luck; the only time he could snatch a kiss from Vincent without the promise of murder, it was taken from him by a group of greedy idiots. The blood from a cut in his hairline ran over Cid’s forehead, and he tried to brush a hand over it, only smearing it around. 

Valentine was crouched before Highwind’s body, and though worried that the man was quiet, the cut bleeding profusely and the blue eyes a little unfocused, he knew all of it was expected from a hard blow like the one knocking Cid down. At that moment, when he saw the Captain fall, Vincent forgot any vestige of politeness, and had jumped on the thug with all his strength and enhanced glory. 

In very few moments of his life the ex-Turk made use of his strength, and for a very thin moment he had even missed the beasts he used to carry inside his body for many years before defeating Omega. 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the gunslinger took the green scarf from his back pocket and folded it around his own fingers, pressing it lightly over Cid’s cut. “Here, Chief. It will help you with the bleeding.” 

“Thanks, Vince.” Cid offered his friend a lopsided, tired smile, and thought he could die happy now when Vincent returned the gesture. 

They were quietly staring at each other, bruised and battered, but surrounded by a comfortable and intimate atmosphere, when the rest of AVALANCHE appeared with various degrees of shock on their faces. 

Reeve was shocked that the booth was destroyed beyond any possibility of repair, Barret was shocked that Vincent had tackled down a man of his own size – perhaps even wider, alone. Cloud was shocked that were about 10 goons down and that he wasn’t there to see Vincent fighting with only his bare hands and Aerith was surprisingly calm amidst all that ruckus, but Tifa was beyond enraged, and turned immediately to the two troublemakers.

“What the hell happened here? Things were going so smoothly, we were gathering money…!”

With his vision clearing, Cid reluctantly turned his head towards Tifa. He liked the woman, but he liked the gunslinger at his front more and between Tifa’s looks and Vincent’s, well... The gunslinger won by a mile of distance. “Hey, hey. Not like I was looking fer it, sis.” 

“Cid, do you have no shame? It was for charity!” The bartender scolded, and put her hands over her waist. She hadn’t even seen the pilot yet and he was already causing trouble. “You just came to town and are picking up fights already?” 

“Uhm, actually…” There was a constricted, tiny sound from the ravenette as Vincent straightened himself and stood up, coming to face his friends. “I did it. I started the fight.” 

All the AVALANCHE’s members – including Yuffie and Nanaki, who came running as soon as the people started to gather around – turned to Vincent, the shock on their faces escalating to something typical of a badly written and very poorly acted movie. 

“Wha- W-Why?” 

That was all they could ask, in the form of Tifa’s stunned words, before Aerith doubled herself in laughter. They all expected something like that from Highwind, with his short fuse and even shorter tolerance with people’s bullshit, but never from the stable, quiet person of one Vincent Valentine. 

After some minutes, Aerith straightened herself with Cloud’s help, and waved at her friends, “Keep talking, I have to pee. Pregnancy and laughter are not fans of each other.” 

The group watched her go, then Tifa turned to Valentine, waiting for his clarification. 

Knowing there was no escape, Vincent sighed, and motioned at the gang scattered around Highwind and himself. “Those guys came asking for the money, I said no.” 

Barret nodded, looking at the piled men on the ground, some giving signs of waking up soon, but with no real chance of winning with all AVALANCHE gathered there. “And they got violent?” 

At that question, the ex-Turk hesitated, pursing his lips into a tight frown and a clear indication that he wouldn’t talk. 

“Nah. He,” Cid, still a little groggy and slouched over his uncomfortable chair, turned and pointed to the big bearded man that was knocked to the ground the moment AVALANCHE was getting to the scene. He was the one who tried to rob the booth while Cid was talking with his best friend minutes earlier. “That guy said faggots with a pretty mouth like Vince were only good fer one thing, and it wasn’t talkin’. Then he made a very rude gesture to Valentine.” 

“Thank you, Highwind.” Vincent answered dryly, glaring affectionately at the hurting pilot. For a tiny, infinitesimal moment, the ex-Turk wanted to hurt the man himself, but that was quickly forgotten when he looked at the blood smearing his best friend’s face. 

“Ya’re welcome, Vince.” Cid answered cheerfully, ignorant of the man’s discomfort. In fact, he was slightly aware that the ex-Turk was uncomfortable, but Highwind’s head hurt a little too much for him to think things through and comprehend them right now. With that, he truly thought he was being helpful, even if his thoughts were in shambles and he wasn’t sure of the veracity of his narration about the evening’s events to their group. 

“What kind of rude gesture?” Yuffie asked, still panting after running there and genuinely curious. The young woman knew an arsenal of rude things, and not even one of them was enough to irk the gunslinger like that. If a gesture made him that angry, it was beneficial that she knew about it. 

For AVALANCHE’s safety, of course. 

Vincent, looking ashamed for perhaps the first time since the group dug him up from the pits of the ShinRa Manor, looked down, bouncing a little on his feet and trying to ignore his own blush. “I won’t repeat that, it was… Quite offensive.” 

Highwind, behind him, did a not so discreet attempt of showing their friends the gesture with his hand and mouth, adding: “And that’s when Vince hit him square on the nose.” Cid paused, blinking with the viscous liquid running down his forehead and the side of his face. The blond cleaned the blood from the cut and did a disgusted pout to his pretty friend. “Vince, Ah think I’m gonna stain yar hanky.”

“There’s no problem, Chief. But you have to press it over the cut to stanch the bleeding.” 

Vincent saw the pilot trying to press his hand over the cut and wince, and walked the two remaining paces back to Highwind to hold the bloodied cloth over the cut. It wasn’t something serious, and the cut wasn’t larger than 3cm, but it was on a patch right below Cid’s hairline, where his goggles used to sit upon, and it was the cause of said cut. When the man hit the Captain, being higher than both Cid and Valentine, he first hit Cid’s goggles, making it break and forcing the thick metal against the man’s head. 

And while Cid’s head was becoming a crimson, bloodied puddle on the ground, Vincent was busy smashing the remaining thugs like they were ants between his fingers. 

Pity Highwind couldn’t see it. 

Holding the pilot’s chin delicately between his left gloved hand, Valentine took the cloth away to take a look at the cut while the group around them was still too stunned to do anything. Pressing the cloth against Cid’s head again, but keeping himself still close to the pilot, Vincent turned to their friends and to the approaching Turks behind them. 

Tifa caught his staring, and she smiled as Aerith came closer, escorted by Reno and Rude, and twirling her staff where she was sure to carry a set of materias. The Cetra pulled the green orb out of her weapon and offered it to Vincent to use on Highwind’s head, since she was too tired with the pregnancy to use it herself. The gunslinger did a thorough job of casting a strong Cure on both himself and the pilot, returning it to Aerith under the stunned eyes of the Turks that followed her to the commotion after she asked them for her weapon. 

Tifa turned to Reno, who was playing with his baton. “What are you two doing here? Came to watch Vincent fight?”

“Actually, we came to help him.” Rude answered and Reno grinned beside him, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Hah, too late fer that.” Barret commented, sneering at the suited bastards. Despite the dark skinned man demeanor, he and the Turks were slowly walking to a state of semi-camaraderie, where they could work together for the common good, but they weren’t friends enough for a drink night, for example. 

“Valentine was a Turk, yo! And we care for our own. Even if they’re retired.” He paused, and smirked towards the ravenette that was – technically – his superior. “Or dead.”

Barret seethed, and gave a pair of stomping paces in Reno’s direction, almost starting another fight. 

“Reno! Behave yourself. You have a job to do.” Veld’s voice became clear around that tiny part of the square, and he walked calmly to his former employees with Tseng and Elena beside him. It was clear by his professional, serious manner that he was there because of the anterior fight with his ex-partner, and to arrest the group he had been tracking until Edge. 

“Who is this guy?” Yuffie, being one of those who wasn’t there when the old Turk presented himself to AVALANCHE that afternoon and tried to take a bite of his old partner, queried. 

The wutaian girl looked at the red haired Turk, and he slouched over his partner’s shoulder, not hiding his too satisfied smirk. He knew he had been a nuisance for Veld back in his trainee days. “Our former Director.”  

At the same time, Vincent added: “My old partner.” 

“Partner?” The youngest woman perked at that. “Like a boyfriend?” 

“Working partners, Yuffie.” Vincent corrected, rolling his eyes. 

Valentine sighed, not needing any more embarrassment than a whole night kissing strangers and Cid catching him in the act. It had been a mild heart attack when the blond suddenly appeared beside himself, and Vincent had tried to ignore how happy he was with Cid there and how ashamed he felt with being the kissing ‘lady’ of the festival. Doing a subtle movement with his fingers – an old sign they both used to share back in their work days – the ex-Turk turned slightly in Veld’s direction with a still too red face, looking straight at his former partner with his crimson eyes begging him to shut up at least once. 

The former Director blinked, taking on subtle details as the ex-Turk’s posture and the calm hand still over the pilot’s head – looking very much like he had forgotten it there and was caressing Cid’s hair instead of cleaning the blood – and narrowed his eyes, with a low, very personal chuckle to himself. Verdot spun around, giving focus to his young Turks and ordering them to arrest the gang, starting to clean up that mess with the help of some WRO soldiers. 

Tuesti was quick to take Veld and Tseng’s side, helping them with the distribution of the gang, ordering the soldiers things like the prisoners’ transportation and treatment as much as the organization and clean up of the destroyed booth. Soon, that part of the square was cleared up, and both the Turks as AVALANCHE started to return to their own duties, leaving only Cid and Vincent on the bare, mangled place where the Kisses Booth once was.

Before leaving, though, Veld came really close to his former partner, seizing the moment to hold Vincent’s waist and pull him closer with the pretense of a hug. “Take care of yourself and your boyfriend there. Don’t let it pass, Vincent.” Veld whispered, hand coming up to hold the gunslinger’s face and giving another kiss on the corner of his mouth, making him blush furiously. 

If he had any doubt that Valentine was enamoured with the pilot, that blush was enough as a verbal confession. 

Veld winked, and turned, only hearing the disgruntled, between teeth answer of his friend:

“I hate you, Verdot!” 

“Hope to see you in Gongaga soon.” The former Director waved as he walked away, finally leaving the two friends alone.

Vincent took a deep breath, trying to keep the burning on his cheeks low as he turned towards Highwind again. Cid was still sitting on that horrible foldable chair, and with his face dirty of blood, but the way his eyes frowned and he crossed the arms over his chest was a clear sign that something wasn’t right. Now that they were alone, and Valentine felt overly conscious of how much of a whore he felt after kissing so many people, there was an uncomfortable, quite strained feeling around them.

“So… Were ya the kissing lady this year?” 

“Aerith’s idea.” Vincent answered, shoulders sagging as he came to sit beside the blond pilot, over the debris of the previous booth. “I just… I couldn’t say no to her.” 

There was an annoyed, low sound of agreement from the pilot – any man in AVALANCHE had had troubles to deny Aerith’s wishes, before because they were too happy to have their friend back from the dead, and now because they felt bad for denying a pregnant woman’s wishes. Both of the friends got quiet for a long, long time, just watching the people coming and going in the Festival like nothing happened, and their normally easygoing dynamic was almost back. 

Vincent frowned, recalling everything after the fight and feeling his fingers tingling where he once touched Highwind’s thick strands of hair. He closed his fingers into a fist, and turned to Cid. “Why didn’t you say that I started the fight? Why did you let them think you were responsible for it?”

Cid blinked, head turning to watch the man who had been making him experience a large range of emotions, from love to jealousy, in mere seconds. Why would he do that? Why would he take the blame from Vincent’s shoulders? It was a stupid question, but he was too cowardly to say the truth on his best friend’s face. The blond clicked his tongue, taking comfort in his fame as the troublemaker of AVALANCHE; he was always the dynamite guy who would jump into fight and ask questions later, and he didn’t want Vincent to be seen as someone problematic like that. 

Vincent didn’t deserve to be seen as someone bad after everything he went through. 

But in reality, Highwind accepted the blame because loved the gunslinger. And when the thief did the unthinkable thing of suggesting Vincent was only good for fucking, Cid was ready to jump and defend his friend’s honor and do a good use of his bad reputation, but Valentine himself beat him to it. 

“‘Cause Ah’m used ta it. Ah’m always causin’ trouble, and Ah’d have done that one way or another.” 

The ex-Turk hummed, blinking his red eyes away from the blue ones when he understood the meaning of those words. “I am sorry if they thought you were my lover, Cid, and I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Vincent closed his eyes in shame, and Highwind smiled. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t wish to be that man’s lover, and just when he was perhaps having a good chance to get closer to the gunslinger, to bypass his fear with the pretense of a play-pretend kiss for charity, some stupid bastard suggested that Valentine was nothing more than a bitch and had the audacity to say Cid was nothing more than a conniving cuckold for letting his ‘pretty boy’ act like that. 

If Vincent hadn’t jumped into the man’s neck at that moment, Highwind would’ve certainly done that. And it would be delicious to avenge his beautiful lover.

The pilot grinned. Now that his mind was clear and the pain had subdued to only a low throbbing in his skull, he could process the little things that both Vincent and himself did during and after that fight. They had fought like the old times – unfortunately without their armory – and he could see now that the worst of the fight happened when one or the other was injured. Despite being calm and still very collected, Vincent had some scratches over his dominant hand’s knuckles and a purple cheek accompanying his previous split lip. 

That split lip had been done by the bearded goon, and Cid had seen red when Vincent spat blood on the pavement, jumping on the man’s neck and hitting his temple with too many hard blows. The guy was too fucking strong, and had pulled Highwind from his back like he was nothing more than a puppet while Valentine took down some other ugly thug. Between that, and being hit in the head, both the Captain and the ex-Turk were piling up injuries, but taking many of the gang out of the game too. 

After Cid was knocked down, and while he tried to stop the bleeding of his head – head cuts bleed like hell, Highwind always hated that – he felt the delicate way with which Vincent touched him, the way his small, and now ungloved hand, caressed and touched the blond’s face and scalp. Though Cid was a little slow at that moment, the sluggish of his brain had also helped him to see the subtle things that Vincent did and showed through his lingering eyes and hands. The blond was sure he had seen some panic inside Vincent’s eyes when he ran to his side, too. And of course, he could count with it the furious, ravaging way Valentine fought those men. 

Wasn’t Highwind so tired right now, he would certainly be turned on by that efficient, protective person that his friend turned out to be in half of a second. 

While Cid was still mildly afraid to be rebuffed and taint their friendship, he still could see that now was his best shot to try and conquer Vincent’s heart. Smiling, he turned to admire the beautiful man sitting at his side, voice soft. “Ah wasn’t bothered, Vince. Ah didn’t enter the fight to defend ma honor. Ah was defending your honor, babe.” 

Valentine’s head snapped up, and he looked at the pilot with wide, shocked crimson eyes and completely blindsided by the term of endearment. “...Weren’t you offended that they thought we were romantically involved?”

“Nah. Ah just…” The blond shook his head, and his hand twitched with the desire to light up a cigarette. Nothing better to relax than a fag after sex or after a fight. “It didn’t matter what they were saying ‘bout me, Vince.”

The ex-Turk blinked, it seemed that his mind was a little uncooperative tonight. Or Vincent was blatantly refusing to see things that were clearly in his face – which it was most likely – and refusing to acknowledge that perhaps he hadn’t been alone in his deep feelings for the pilot. Yet, even with the possibility looming on the horizon like the sun rising every day, he asked: “...But did it matter what they said about me?” 

Highwind nodded, the smile taking all of his face now.  

“Why?”

“The same reason Ah’m fuckin’ stopping ta smoke fer ya, dumbass.” 

Vincent frowned upon hearing Cid’s words, and really, now he was actively refusing to believe their meanings. The ravenette’s heart was beating fast in his chest, hurting against his ribcage, and he fought the urge to clutch at his sweater. It was the strongest emotion he had felt in a long, long time, and he was feeling stupid for feeling like a teenager again, waiting to hear their crush to give them a declaration of love. 

Vincent felt pathetic, and young, and it was quite refreshing after faking and holding his emotions for so long. Nevermind that he had never felt anything like it before, he was unlucky as that in matters of the heart. 

Hesitantly, he turned a little more in Cid’s direction, putting his body almost front to front with Highwind’s. The words at the tip of his tongue were others, but he couldn’t force himself to say it. “...Did you do it because we are friends and I asked you to?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Vince! ‘re ya always this dense?” Cid grouched, but without the real bitterness or annoyance he would usually sport when he was too fed up with people's stupidity. That too smart, knowing grin was still plastered on his face, and he could see the guarded, quite apprehensive eyes of his best friend, the fear and shock in the slight opening of the man’s eyes and the faint round shape of his supple mouth.

It was the most expressive Cid had ever seen the gunslinger, and it was beautiful!

Valentine shook his head to Highwind's question, unable to say anything, and waited with breath held as the Captain got closer. And closer. In that stretched particle of time, the long moment before the pilot’s lips touched his, Vincent reflected about the many people he had kissed that night, and how none of them had caused the same exhilaration and turmoil inside himself, how none of them had the same masculine perfume that made all his body hair stand tall, or even how none of them filled his being with feelings of warmth and safety. 

Vincent had kissed many people – too many people – all night, but in truth, he just wished to be kissed by Cid Highwind. 

Forever. 

“‘re ya okay with this?” The pilot asked, mouth just millimeters away from the gunslinger’s. Consent was an important thing with Valentine and he wanted to be sure before taking the next step. 

“...Yes.” 

Vincent’s whispered answer was swallowed by Cid’s lips. Slowly at first, with a tentative, sweet caressing of his mouth; a preliminary recognition of the curves and textures of the ravenette’s lips, then a more fierce repetition of the act, with some maneuvering of their heads for a better fit. Highwind brought his hand up, to cup the man’s cheek and Valentine melted at the contact, laying his head over the man’s hand and sighing. 

It ached in Cid’s heart to see how much Vincent may have missed human contact, how very few dared to touch him so intimately, and he brought the other hand calmly around the ex-Turk’s waist, his blue eyes fixed on Valentine’s dazed red ones, in a rare demonstration of tenderness that very few had experienced in his arms. Highwind brought the man closer by his waist, and despite the fact that both were still sitting on different benches, their upper chests were touching nicely against each other. “Is it okay like this?” 

Vincent nodded, words still difficult to say while he was being taken by emotions long forgotten. He was flushed, and quite hot with just a simple, quite innocent kiss from the pilot, and he wondered what kind of feelings Highwind was able to awaken in him. Bringing his hand to the blond’s chest, and his ungloved one to the man’s neck, he asked: 

“Do you want to know a secret, Chief?” Vincent saw the pilot nod, and smiled with that discreet pull of lips that was easy to come up with around Highwind. “You were the client I was expecting most tonight.”

“Is all that Ah am ta ya, a client?” 

“No, you were never my client, Chief. I never kissed you.” Valentine’s hand curled itself at the base of Cid’s skull, tangling between his dirty blond hair. “You kissed me.” 

“And Ah’m gonna do it again.” 

Vincent nodded, letting himself be hugged tightly between Cid’s arms, and feeling a rare sense of protection in it. The kiss was a bit more elaborate than the previous one, and they both sighed as their tongues touched each other, unveiling their tastes, discovering their own rhythm. They kissed calmly, both soothed by each other’s presence, under the Festival’s bright and explosive fireworks; and when they stopped, slightly out of breath, it was like the world wasn’t even there, like nothing else mattered. 

Vincent smiled, happy and at ease for the first time after many months missing the pilot. It turned out that his bad mood was really caused by Cid’s absence, in the end.

Still tangled between Highwind’s arms, Vincent smiled with a very misplaced sadness inside. However magical it had been, to share kisses with Cid under the moonlight, some things needed to be said. “What do we do now, Chief?” 

“Dunno.” The spearman’s face scrunched into a very thoughtful expression, unknowingly bringing a great amount of distress to the ravenette’s eyes for short seconds before he could conclude. “How ‘bout Ah pay ya dinner? Good food, some fancy wine…”

Valentine squinted. It was good offer, and a promise of something more, something private and where they could share themselves without him feeling conscious of the people around. It was also a promise of something Vincent hadn’t had in a very, very long time, and he discovered himself less bothered by the possibility of sex between them as he thought he would be. 

There was only one problem with that idea. The gunman hummed, “Most of Edge is here at the Festival. How does some barbecue and mulled wine sound as a first date?” 

“It’s a start ta me.” 

Valentine nodded, helping the blond to get up – more out of respect and worry about Highwind’s head injury than a true necessity from the pilot – and they started to walk back towards the square. That part of the park had been isolated by WRO’s soldiers, so there weren’t many people along the way beyond Cid and Vincent. 

As they walked, Valentine’s hand stable on the pilot’s elbow as a sturdy and careful support, Cid asked: “Say, Vince, how many of our friends did ya kiss tonight?” 

Vincent’s face scrunched in thought. “Hm… All of them. Except two.” 

“Cloud and me?” 

“Yuffie and Tifa.” 

Cid frowned. He wasn’t expecting that, and was mildly disgruntled that all of their friends had touched Valentine before himself. “Why not them two? Could well go for it, if even Nanaki was there in the line!” 

“Are you jealous, Highwind?” 

Cid grumbled something, and Vincent pretended he couldn’t listen to it, to give Cid some sense of privacy even near Valentine’s enhanced ears. The ex-Turk pretended that Highwind’s jealousy didn’t make the butterflies in his stomach flutter like bubbles inside a glass of champagne, too.

“Don’t be. It’s like the saying: He who laughs last-” 

“Laughs best.” 

Highwind grinned as he and Vincent kept the slow walk towards the other booths and the rather emptying square, now they could notice. It was getting late, and people were leaving after the fireworks show, giving AVALANCHE’s members some much deserved respite and the couple some peace to enjoy their very unusual first date.